Boulevard Of Broken Dreams
by Pike2
Summary: Sequel to Shine. I/J, Martha, Master, Lucy, TW Team, 10th Dr & some old friends. The Master's in Cardiff looking for revenge. Will he find out about Ianto's relationship to the Doctor and can Jack keep him safe as more of the Dr past is revealed?
1. Chapter 1

**Boulevard Of Broken Dreams**

I Walk A Lonely Road

Ianto leant closer to his laptop, his shirt sleeves rolled up and the glow bathing his face the only light in the room. Without taking his eyes off the screen he reached for the coffee mug standing as both sentinel and companion on the small metal desk and took a sip of the tepid liquid. He grimaced and wiped at his tired eyes, allowing a glance at the time proffered in the right-hand corner of the screen; it was twenty past two in the morning.

He placed the tall mug back on its slate coaster and let his head sink into his hands as he tried to draw conclusions from the threads dangling around him. He looked back at the images of Lucy Cole, the ex-Mrs Harold Saxon and his mind murmured a chorus of whispered warnings; something seemed off. The timid girl from earlier family photos and glossy magazine shoots had changed in the last year to one with confidence and authority; there was something deep within her eyes that unsettled him, something he could not locate in the previous images. He closed his eyes and tried to stretch the exhaustion from his body, standing to pace around the room, away from the lure of her disturbing stare.

He had done this before, in his muddled mind, when time had reset and he was trying to make sense of the different sets of memories that had forged in his head. Was that what had given Lucy this inner self-assurance? To have lived through a nightmare and survived? Had it made her stronger, when it had broken so many?

He looked down at the psychiatric reports for those individuals that time had damaged, whose minds had not been able to cope with the reinstatement of the timeline. One hundred and fifty-four people destroyed by nightmares of their own deaths and the Toclafane; shattered by a year of hell.

One hundred and fifty-four that they knew of; one hundred and fifty-four that had sort out counselling; one hundred and fifty-four…

He rested against the windowsill, finding no comforting breeze in a night that was heavy with heat, even the jaded stars seemed to sweat in the stagnant air above the restless city.

Ianto's mobile gave two distinctive bleeps, the sound echoing in the silence of the room. He moved swiftly to its resting place on the coffee table and picked it up.

RE: Holiday destination

Take Out Insurance!

W.

He smiled and deleted the message. Picking up his car keys, Ianto headed for the Hub.

Beta by the wonderful helbee


	2. The Only One That I Have Ever Known

**The Only One That I Have Ever Known - 2  
**

Lucy Cole stared out at Jack from the computer screen. Her meteoric rise in the echelons of power had been swift, too swift for the captain's liking. Jack had taken his eye off the ball, not noticing the creep of political factions that were vying for a stake in the institute after Kate Talbot's untimely exit from the Ministry. He was now suspicious of the allegations that had been levelled against her husband; it seemed too coincidental, especially with the ex-Mrs Harold Saxon waiting eagerly in the wings to take up the vacated position.

Lucy's father had pushed for the re-opening of Torchwood One, believing that London should be the ultimate location for all things alien and had insisted on the re-build and expansion of the labs under the H. C. Clements building after they had been destroyed by a fire. He had put his own daughter in charge of the project and she had made herself indispensable to the government and had subsequently landed herself the key role overseeing 'Alien Affairs'.

Jack picked up the dossier that lay on his desk, leafing through the employee records of the team she had handpicked to help her run the department; he shook his head, they were all weak individuals, good in their fields but not outstanding and as for Neil Down…

The cog door sounded, shattering the soft hum of the Hub. Jack closed the file and stood, leaning on his doorframe as Ianto approached his office. "You've heard from your contact?" The captain folded his arms.

"Best clear your safe," Ianto answered in acknowledgement.

Jack cocked an eyebrow. "Operation Spitfire," he said with a soft smile.

The young man rolled his eyes at the code word. "I'm heading to the archives; I believe I may have misrepresented some of the technology and incorrectly categorized its potential."

Jack threw him some keys. "You remember the code?" Ianto gave him a pointed look; Jack held up his hands in mock surrender. "Silly question."

He snatched his mobile off his desk. "I'll give Tosh a ring…"

Ianto stepped forward. "We're being monitored, Jack."

The captain disconnected the call with a flick of his thumb. "You sure?" The young man nodded.

"Oh, they're good," Jack continued, glancing toward the folder on his desk, he frowned. "Too good."

He hit redial and smiled at the other man. "Don't worry I'll make up a convincing cover story, years of practice."

"That I can believe," Ianto replied, heading toward the archives.

--------------------------

Martha had been coasting in an uneasy sleep, her mind lingering in anxious thoughts which awake she may have dismissed. She kicked off the sheet and went to open the window further, hoping the night could offer some kind of breeze.

The street below presented no chocolate box painting under the glow of the uniform lampposts, just discarded takeout boxes and rows of parallel parking, that snaked as far are the eye could see. The net curtain twitched in the whispered promise of cool air and Martha went to turn away when she caught movement in one of the cars below. She jerked back from the window - she was being watched.

She quickly put on her dressing gown, suddenly feeling very vulnerable and went to pick up her mobile, but as her finger hit speed dial the room shook with noise as the fire alarm sounded.

Martha rushed into the hallway, following the other sleepy residents of the converted church down the fire escape into the street below. The alarm echoed in the silence of the early morning, waking the other inhabitants of the terraced avenue who came to their windows to look out on the assembled people.

Martha kept to the crowd, her vigilant gaze roaming her neighbours for signs of any strangers. "What happened?" Voices spun around her. "Is there a fire?" Children cried, people panic as they watched for flames or smoke from the old bricked building.

Someone moved beside her, catching her elbow with their hand. "Well at least it's not raining, I'll give him that. Would you walk with me, my dear? Standing around is not good for this ancient hip of mine." The old woman's engaging brown eyes appealed to Martha through the magnified lenses of her glasses.

The doctor smiled fondly at her and the large tortoiseshell cat lounging in her spindly embrace. She bent over and scratched behind the animal's ear; the cat purred softy. "Of course, it'll beat standing here waiting for the fire brigade. How about to the corner and back?" It was a well-lit route; she could be comfortable with that. Martha looked down at the other woman's footwear, surprised at the height of her court shoes.

The old woman quickly scanned the street and nodded; Martha frowned. "You okay, Mrs Robson?" She seemed anxious.

"We had worse in the war, my dear," she replied, her gaze resting in the doctor's own.

Martha narrowed her eyes, trying to decipher the old lady's expression. She gave her a nervous smile. "Of course you did. And what about Pepper Tiltman, he hanging in there?" The cat cocked its head at the sound of his name.

"You remember his name, not many people do," Mrs Robson remarked with a kind smile against her wrinkle face. "You're a good girl, Martha Jones."

"I remember all their names. "Gustav, Lorenz, Mr Heath Robinson and Flowers Newman." Martha looked around. "They're not in the building are they?"

"No, only me and Tiltman, we're both too old for a night on the tiles." She kissed the top of the cat's head; the animal seemed to roll its eyes.

Martha gave a small laugh and stopped stroking the soft fur of its body. "Well, more like early morning, it's three am." The animal protested against the lack of attention with a bad tempered meow and jumped from the arms of its owner to weave around the legs of strangers.

"Such a shame to wake the children, but I guess it was important." The old lady clutched at Martha's arm and guided her away from the throng of residents with a click of heels.

"Mrs Robson…"

She gave her a silencing hush, looking around them for good measure and indicated for the doctor to come nearer. Martha stooped so she could catch what the petite woman was saying. "I had a visitor today, a man; he told me you were being watched…"

The doctor pulled back. "Who was this man, what did he look like?"

Mrs Robson smile. "It was all a bit hush-hush, my dear, no names were exchanged but I can tell you he was a real gentleman, almost like an older Hugh Grant but with a military bearing, officer I'd say, retired now, of course." She crinkled up her face in thought, splitting its many furrows. "He came to me because of my work in the war…"

Martha looked at her. "Cryptographer, Bletchley Park," Mrs Robson explained with a sense of pride.

"The Enigma code," the younger woman offered in slow comprehension.

The old lady gave her a long-suffering smile. "Yes, well done, my dear. Anyhow, this military gentleman gave me an envelope to pass onto you and I was to say that you have a mutual acquaintance: a Mr John Smith."

Martha looked around to see if anyone else had caught the name before turning her attention to the old lady once more. "He told me that an opportunity would _present_ itself so I could deliver the letter safely, without being observed." He enlarged eyes swept the darkness for intruders before she rooted around in the heavy leather handbag slung over her shoulder. "Here."

Martha quickly took it from her and folded it into the pocket of her dressing gown. Mrs Robson tapped the side of her nose twice, giving the young doctor a knowing glance; Martha gave her a nod in acknowledgement and watched as the aged widow, in the patent leather heels, walked off in search of the lazy and indifferent Pepper Tiltman.

----------------------------------------

Ianto entered the boardroom and rested his hands on the table. His shirt was dusty from physically moving some of the alien tech to the secure room in the underground tunnels. Tosh had offered to help but Jack had her busy transferring and overwriting files as well as locking down parts of the system and implementing the Spitfire programme. Jack was spooked, they all were, even Tosh was seeing monsters in the shadows.

There had been no time to talk, apart from relaying file codes to be deleted and the odd request for coffee to keep them all awake. He glanced at his watch; it was almost four-thirty.

He wiped a hand over his face and pulled his wallet from his back pocket, refastening the button out of habit. Flicking it open he teased apart one of the satin compartments and removed a delicate membrane of alien skin. He shut the wallet and threw it on the table, careful of the piece of translucent living tissue now adhered to the pads of his fingers. It pulsed under his touch, reacting to the light of the room. He shuddered and carefully placed it on the glass of the table top. The circle melded to the surface, concealing itself within the transparent slab and making it undetectable to the naked eye.

Ianto sucked on his finger to moisten it and then dampened the area where he had placed the slither of alien epidermis; it sparked around its edge in a curve of bright light. "Open Channel D," the young man whispered, watching as the tissue reacted to his saliva and began to transmit the sound from the room.

He gave a soft smile. "I hope you're out there, _Waverly_." He watched again as the piece of skin masked itself to its surroundings.

"You do know London stopped trialling the shed skin of the Arionleon because of its lack of range?" Jack stepped into the room. "Not a great eavesdropping tool if you have to be ten meters away to pick it up." He let his fingers trail on the polished surface of the table leaving smears.

"Twelve," Ianto corrected, keeping eye contact.

"Twelve," Jack acknowledged with a slight cock of his head. "So if I check the CCTV will I find this mysterious friend of yours and invite him in for coffee?" He lent against the far wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "I like to know who I'm working _with_."

"No," the young man answered quickly, holding the captain's critical stare. "He prefers tea."

Jack snorted and tapped his earpiece. "Tosh, I want…"

Ianto interrupted the command. "Tosh, give us a few minutes."

The two men eyed each other. "Jack?" The Asian woman's voice was full of concern.

"Give us a minute." The captain directed, his eyes never leaving those of the younger man. "Okay," he levelled, "You've got your…" he checked his watch, "… fifty-eight seconds, make it good."

"He's not out there, Jack."

"Really?" There was something of the captain's past in his voice.

"UNIT took over the experimentation with a greater success; they managed to amplify the signal by preserving and using the membrane covering the Arionleon's central cortex." He watched the captain's face.

Jack drummed his fingers on his arm. "I could still get Tosh to check."

Ianto sighed and rubbed his forehead. "You could, but it would be a waste of her time." He leant against one of the chairs for support, looking at his own reflection in the tabletop.

Jack studied him carefully. "So he's with UNIT."

Ianto looked up. "Was," he countered.

"And you can trust him?" Jack voice was distant as he broached the question.

Ianto encompassed the captain's brooding gaze, the unspoken exchange propagating the room in a mix of emotion. "Yes," Ianto answered in a final whisper.

Jack pushed away from the wall and approached the other man. "But not me; couldn't tell me what you were doing?"

Ianto swallowed and looked down at the floor before resuming eye contact. "He asked me not to."

Jack shook his head. "And still, you trust him, a _government_ official…" he stressed the word, stretching it to say much more, "…above your own…"

"My own what, Jack?" Ianto's eyes flared and pinned the other man in the spike of their emotion.

"Your team." The captain's words struck at the young man's heart.

"Like a father," the Welshman snapped, releasing his feelings, his statement making Jack stop in his tracks.

Ianto cast his eyes to the floor in case the other man caught the blister of his soul; Jack's anger abated. He reached out a hand, catching the younger man's shoulder. "Who?"

Ianto's gaze campaigned for secrecy. "A friend of John Smith."

Jack lips flickered in a grin. "A real friend?"

"Yes."

"In government?" He sounded surprised.

This time Ianto smiled. "Well, the corridors of power."

Jack pulled his hand away and looked over to the table. "How many have you planted?"

The young man followed his gaze. "Seven, including this one; it was the last."

"So, if we're in trouble he'll call in the troops…"

"He'll do what needs to be done," Ianto answered vaguely.

"Okay."

The Welshman smiled. "He's very resourceful, Jack."

"Hey, I like him already." The captain let his voice carry over the table.

Ianto smiled, feeling the exhaustion grip his body as his adrenalin depleted. "You should get some rest." Jack's words were soft in the quiet of the room, almost fading before they fell from his lips.

"We all should," the young man replied, pulling out a chair, the air around him becoming thick and heavy with the sent of summer; crushed raspberries, over sweet lemonade and burnt gingerbread men.

He swayed slightly, his knuckles white against the back of the seat as bees buzzed lazily in his head and the low chorus of birdsong heralded the evening.

Jack watched him sit down. "You know there are more comfortable places…"

"I just need a few minutes." Ianto closed his eyes on the light, something was making his mind grab for the shadows in his past; his words vanishing like a dream before waking.

The captain smiled and squeezed his shoulder; the Welshman's eyes shot open.

_Something seized the material of his t-shirt, its toughened claws scraping his skin… _

The young man pushed himself from the chair, backing away from Jack's touch and into the table; he toppled to the floor.

_Ianto tried to back away, but the heel of his hands slipped on the moist earth, causing the bloated alien some amusement._

"Jack." Tosh's voice filled the moment. "I'm getting a surge of energy, a pulse; I'm tracking it to…" she stopped. "…the boardroom! Jack!"

_The Slitheen towered over him, its hollow ebony eyes regarding him with both interest and hunger._

The captain kept his movements small as Ianto's terrified stare looked through and beyond him. "Source?" he asked, taking a step forward.

_With one easy stride it barred any attempt at escape…_

He heard her fingers tap at the keyboard. "It's hard to pinpoint…"

"Can you block it?" Jack whispered into the Bluetooth keeping his voice low.

"_Going somewhere little one?"_

"I'll try," Tosh answered. "I think you and Ianto should get out of there…"

"_Leave him alone, you bitch!" _

Ianto's head jerked to the far wall, seeing Rose hanging from the tent pegs. He grabbed at his hair, pulling it hard to block out the images.

"No can do at the moment…" Jack took another soft step forward and crouched down. "Ianto?"

The young man kicked out, clipping the captain's leg with his heel.

_The Slitheen tugged on his arm, wrenching it out of its joint. He screamed in agony._

Ianto yelled in pain and grabbed his arm.

"Jack, what's wrong...?

"Whatever it is, it's affecting Ianto."

Jack turned his attention back to the younger man. "Ianto." He tried again to reach the Welshman, giving him a gentle smile.

_It smiled, bearing its razor-sharp teeth that were still coated in blood. "Please just one more game? Nothing too rough, though, I've only just eaten." _

"Lily," the young man whimpered, moving further under the table. "I should never have left…"

The room stretched under Ianto's perception and then fell like a million stars exploding from the heavens leaving him alone in their darkness. Voices, faint at first, swirled around his consciousness, they were many, yet they belonged to just one.

"_We are you. We are us. We are dead, yet we live. We are one, together."_

They pulsed through his skin, scraping his mind in their crescendo of hate.

"_You know who we are."_

A word formed on the horizon of his thoughts.

"_You know who we are."_

Ianto held his head in his hands again. "M…"

He looked to Jack, unable to breathe through the hook of seconds, caught in the slit of space.

"_You know who we are."_

"Mas…" The word fell short, his throat contracting around the first syllable.

"Ianto." Jack reached out, pulling the young man into his arms as he struggled for breath.

"_You know who we are."_

Ianto's eyes burst with light. "Master! Master! Master!" He screamed his body shaking in nightmare before darkness gave him respite.

--------------------------------------------

The Doctor stood on the barren planet, alone, as the voices retreated into the vastness of the universe. His hearts wept in the rupture of emotion, his senses overwhelmed by both joy and sorrow.

The wind stirred and he turned his head to the flicker of a voice that split the silence of the dead world. It spun in his direction, following the path of the others, limping behind his own in a punctuated echo.

"No." The Timelord's denial sort to stop their fluctuated path and conceal their whispered tempo.

"_Master. Master. Master." _They danced by him, gaining strength by his proximity.

"No!" The word sprang to his lips as they trailed after his own acknowledgement and followed it back.

--------------------------------

Lucy Cole sat on the bed, her room burning with the odour of spent circuits and tendrils of acidic smoke. She laughed again, drawing her red lips tight across perfect teeth, the sound as deep as a drowning man gasping frantically for air. Her hand stung, its flesh bubbled with new blisters. "No pain, no gain," she said critically, her tongue licking at the swollen ridges.

"_...and so their work was done." _ Bagpuss settled on his cushion, filling the television screen.

"Oh, it has only just started," Lucy commented looking at the dog shaped clock hanging the wall.

"Why Bagpuss, dear, it's already a new day, time to break more _things_." The timepiece moved its eyes from side to side chronicling the seconds.

She got up from the bed, her body swaying in time with pinecone pendulum. "Things that can't be mended," she whispered to the cloth cat on the television.

The ruined laptop let out a final hiss and a flash of sizzling light. The spark held onto its glow, drifting erratically to the high ceiling. Lucy turned and watched its progress, drawn to its lingering ember.

"_Master. Master. Master." _

The small sphere flared and vanished leaving just a whisper of smoke. Lucy inhaled its aroma, her fingertips raking through the wisp of its filaments.

"Now that's interesting," she remarked with a blood red smile.

----------------------------------

_Dear Miss Jones,_

_Acting on recent information received, I believe our mutual friend to be in grave danger if he returns._

_I would advise you to __**sever**__ all __**contact**__ you have with him._

_I also strongly recommend that you destroy all evidence of this letter._

_A Friend._

The note was hasty but the penmanship spoke of time before keyboards and e-mail. Martha studied it once more, the soft scratch of the pen on the paper, the precise wording, the lean of the letters. She found it conflicting, a military man, yet, the script was artistic. It bloomed against the paper, it had a heart, it bore a soul, it was not cold or conforming, it spoke to her of trust and somewhere in narrative she saw herself; a former friend of John Smith.

She looked over her shoulder, still feeling uneasy in the mill of residents. She walked along the pavement shredding the note as she moved, stopping only to let the ribbons of torn paper fly down the nearest cast iron drain.


	3. Don't Know Where It Goes

**Don't Know Where It Goes - 3**

Jack was hunched over his small cot, head in his hands, watching the young man sprawled over the sheets and covers. Every now and then he would reach across and still his restless slumber with a soft touch of his hand or gentle words that fought against those stalking Ianto's confused mind.

Tosh held onto the metal rung of the ladder, observing their small bubble, not wanting to burst it with her presence. It was Jack who spoke, his eyes not looking up from his charge. "Tosh?"

She stepped into the dull light of the room lit only by an ancient bedside lamp. "Here." She handed him a mug of coffee, making an apologetic face for the contents.

Jack smiled and wrapped his hands around the decorative stripes; his eyes met her; Tosh shook her head. "I couldn't pinpoint the source of the pulse, Jack. All I can tell you is that it used Archangel satellites to bounce the signal…"

"I thought they had been destroyed." Jack stood up abruptly turning to meet her stare.

"The network has but the satellites are still in orbit, they were kept for _government_ use."

The captain placed his free hand in his pocket and looked down into the liquid. "Jack, this visit tomorrow…" she sighed, "…sorry today…"

"Goes all the way to the top." He looked up into her tired face. "Go get some rest, Tosh."

She pushed her fringe away from her eyes. "I'll try."

He nodded, looking at his watch. "The lift?"

"I disabled it." She smiled. "Annual maintenance."

Jack gave a weary grin. "Will you open up the office, later?" She nodded.

"You better take this." He placed his mug down on a clear surface and stood, reaching through the clutter to pick up a model Spitfire. He held onto it, for a moment, his direction elsewhere.

"You think Owen will remember?" She gently took it from the captain's grasp, turning it over in her own.

Jack shook his head. "No." He placed both hands in his pockets. "You'll remind him?" He inclined his head; the Asian woman nodded.

"Jack, if this turns bad…"

The captain rubbed a hand through his hair. "I'll think of something, pull some sort of rabbit out of the hat." His shoulders slumped slightly.

Tosh reached across to hold his arm. "I know," she whispered. "Jack…" His eyes held hers. "It's good to have you back." She squeezed his arm.

Ianto sat bolt upright in the bed, his body shaking, crying out against some unseen torment, unsure of his surroundings. Tosh looked from the captain to the young man. "Should I get Owen to come down when he comes in?" She let her hand drop.

Jack shook his head. "I'll see to it." He moved away and sat down on the small cot, steadying the younger man in a gentle and reassuring grip.

Tosh took a step forward but found herself outside their bubble again, excluded. She smiled sadly and headed back up the ladder.

------------------------------------

"Ianto." Jack's voice pulled him from the shadows.

"_Ianto," she whispered in blood, relief seeping into her gaze. _

He looked around, squinting at the shadows, digesting the backdrop of Jack's disorder; the man was like a magpie for the past. He glanced up at the captain, his vivid blue stare grounding the younger man. "What…?"

Jack guided him back on the pillows. "There was an energy pulse, it seemed to affect you." He studied the young man's face, searching the deepening folds of his brow.

Ianto's looked away, pushing the heel of his hand against his forehead as flashes of ghosts turned in his mind.

"_No, leave me, you must go."_

"Here." Jack handed him the mug; Ianto looked hesitantly down at the wave of brown liquid. "Tosh made it," the captain explained.

The young man took a much needed sip, letting the bitter taste chase away all vestiges of the past. He closed his eyes and relaxed back against the odd assortment of pillows.

Jack lent forward resting his arms on his knees; he looked at his folded hands, following the ridges and peaks of his knuckles. "What did you see?" He glanced back up watching as the Welshman drew himself inward.

Ianto gripped the mug tighter weighing his answer on the sway of coffee touching the rim. "I don't remember." He looked away from the captain's challenging stare, the lie expanding the short distance between them; Jack could not afford to wait.

"_Master. Master. Master." _

He heard its tormented echo. He drew breath and grabbed the Welshman's wrist making Ianto look at him. Coffee slopped on the covers. "I know."

Ianto buried himself in Jack's stare. _'I know.' _ The statement cut through the disarray of his mind, leaving him in no doubt.

He looked to the span of Jack's firm grip. "How?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes." The word slashed through the exchange as Ianto tugged away from Jack's hold, ditching the mug on the bedside cabinet. "I would have told you." His gaze travelled to Jack's eyes; he felt betrayed.

"I know." The captain's voice was gentler, his stare softer. "I just put two and two together…"

"How long?"

"Ianto…"

"How long, Jack?" Ianto ground his teeth.

The captain sighed. "Since I took you back, before…" he paused, "… before the Toclafane. I saw the pocket watch."

Silence.

Jack moved off the bed, turning his back to the younger man, leaning an arm against a jutting wall. "What did you see?" His words punctuated the still room.

The young man swallowed, his eyes never leaving the captain's silhouetted figure. "Does it matter?"

Jack clenched his fist with frustration. "Yes," he hissed.

Ianto closed his eyes and turned his head away. "I saw death, Jack, okay?" He moved off the bed and began to button up his shirt.

The captain stayed where he was, tapping his chin against his wrist, eyes scanning the brickwork of the wall. "What did you see?" he asked again.

Ianto's fingers froze on the top button. _"What did you see?" _Jack's persistence was pushing at the Welshman's resolve.

He drew breath. "I already told you…"

"No, no you didn't."

The young man turned his attention to the captain, the button forgotten, his eyes burning with emotional tears. He moved from the bed, distancing himself from the other man.

"Ianto…"

The Welshman looked over his shoulder. "I saw my past, Jack, I saw my mother die at the hands of a Slitheen." He shut his eyes, dragging himself from desperate tears.

Jack swallowed. "But that's not all you saw." He turned back into the room, leaning against the wall while looking to the unused ceiling fan.

"No." Ianto curled his hand around the ladder, hoping to blend into the shadows. "I saw him."

"Who?" Jack's question edged toward the other man, his stomach tightening.

"My… The Doctor." He turned his gaze to the captain's own. "There was something else, a shadow maybe…" Jack's posture stiffened.

"It was just a feeling." Ianto shook his head, searching the vague folds of his memory.

"Tell me what you felt?" Jack pushed gently.

The young man shrugged and turned away. "A ripple, a twist of time, an instability, a kink. Jack, I can't, it was just a flicker of a moment…"

"Was it him?" There was no need for further explanation.

Ianto ran his fingers through his hair, feeling the yoke tighten around him. "You called out his name." The captain's eyes never left the young man, pressing him in their coil. "Three times," he added.

"_You know who we are." _ The voices bounced off the walls in the Ianto's throbbing head.

"I can't be sure, Jack, it could have been a distant memory, a residue from the Doctor's own..." he bit his lip. "… Torment."

The captain pushed away from the wall. "Well, someone sent the pulse."

Ianto smoothed the creased cotton of his shirt front. "Has Tosh been able to track it?"

Jack shook his head. "They used Archangel Network to transmit the signal…"

Ianto froze. "I thought that was defunct."

"You and me both." Jack stepped into light from the lamp. "Did the Doctor say anything yesterday?"

"No. But for him time isn't linear."

The captain nodded. "And you were careful?"

Ianto sighed. "I'm not an amateur, Jack."

The captain smiled. "No, no you're not, sorry." He reached out and turned the young man's collar down at the back. "And neither are we, that's why we're taking no chances." He pulled his braces onto his shoulders. "I'm sending you away, now…"

"What?" The young man jerked his head round.

"We'll make up a bogus alien sighting, I don't know, I'll get Tosh to fabricate something…"

"No, Jack, no way."

"Ianto, I'm trusting my gut here…"

"I'm not running, not again…" The Welshman moved away, rolling down his shirt sleeves.

"Ianto." Jack's voice was softer as he stepped behind him. "I made a promise."

The young man stilled. "To whom, Jack?"

The captain placed his hands Ianto's shoulders. "To myself," he whispered, "during that long and painful year, that I wasn't going to let him hurt you, not to get to the Doctor and not to get to, to me."

Ianto turned to face the other man. "Jack, that's a promise you might not be able to keep."

The captain swallowed, letting his thumb ghost the young man's lips. "I know."

Ianto reached up and held his hand, placing a soft kiss against the digit. "I ran once before, Jack, in a year that didn't even exist, I'm not going to do it again." His eyes held a flare he'd inherited from both parents.

The older man let his hand fall to his side and looked away.


	4. But It's Home To Me But I Walk Alone

**But It's Home To Me And I Walk Alone - 4**

Neil opened the car door aware of the stares the government vehicle was receiving from the public. He pushed his rimless _Ray Bans_ onto his face and smoothed his tie, tucking it in the folds of his light blue jacket. For a second his fingertips brushed between the overlap of his shirtfront to the soft satin of the triangular bra that lay next to his skin. He licked his lips, touching the smoothness of his philtrum with the tip of his tongue, unused to the exposed skin since he'd shaved off his moustache. _"Bum fluff."_ Even now, in his moment of triumph, his mother's sharp voice haunted his thoughts.

He stepped onto the plaza and headed to the other door, opening it with a sense of theatrics. Miss Cole swung her long legs around, setting her feet onto the paved court and Neil offered her his hand for support. She took it, covering his palm in grip of varnished nails and dark rainbows from the stones set in the ring she always wore.

Miss Cole smiled at him with scarlet lips, a smile that was all teeth and glee, its colour biting into the tempered gloom of the early Cardiff morning. She accepted his arm as he guided her from the car, the click of her perfect cherry heels seeming to swamp the sound of the city as they walked from the parked vehicle.

Lucy stopped a moment to look at the water tower. "It's smaller than I remember," she said thoughtfully, her eyes studying the reflected shimmer of its constant flow.

Neil remained silent as her grip bit into his skin and crept into his heart. "It brought me here," she continued, "when I looked into its heart, it showed me your primitive species and I felt the darkness of your malleable souls."

"So pretty," she whispered. "Like the rush of an inky waterfall and there you all were, drowning in a current of denial, hiding your true nature under the guise of civility."

Lucy laughed and Neil wanted to run, to snatch his arm away and put as much distance between them as possible. But he couldn't. He was bound to her. She was the only one who understood the shades of his being, the shadows that made him 'man'.

A delicate chime rang through his thoughts and Miss Cole pulled a pocket watch from within her oatmeal suit. Lucy looked at him again. "Show time, Neil," she said with smug satisfaction, "and I have all my pieces in play."

She placed the timepiece back in her jacket and Neil couldn't help but feel a little envious of her ownership of the antique.

Another car drew up, lagging behind them as it so often did. Its contents emptied onto the square: a mixed bag of scientists and technicians, all trying to look preoccupied with the task ahead, but the hunch of their shoulders and silent gait betrayed their anxiety.

Some would risk a careless glance at the occupants of the lead vehicle, which Neil met, challenging their stares, making them shrink back and buckle under its weight. He snorted inwardly. He knew what they thought about him and his relationship with Miss Cole, their tiny minds believed it was sexual in nature and that he had slept his way to his coveted position.

It was a repulsive thought. Neil could never envisage any part of his anatomy touching a woman with desire. They were such vile creatures, their sex hidden in clefts full of lies and disease ridden secretions, suckling on a man like a baby after milk, using forged concepts of romance to lure a man's common sense and smother his identity. His father had fallen for his mother's bloated wiles and it made him sick to think of their corpulent coupling on strained springs and nylon sheets to a chorus of primal moans and animalistic grunts.

He shuddered. Neil would never be tempted to liaise with the opposite sex. And as for another man? Well, that was against the laws of nature and strictly abhorrent. Although, just lately, his structured mind had unaccountably wondered in perverse speculation about such an invasive act while in the throes of administering to his own requirements; needless to say it had disturbed him greatly. Neil like to keep an order on the necessity for release, one that evolved a spread of tissues, latex gloves, a time constraint of two minutes, thirty-two seconds and his mind firmly fixed on the feel of silk and lace against his skin and the taste of lipstick on his mouth. Sometimes, he would allow himself up to three minutes, but this would neither be reckless or an abandonment of his stringent attention to formation and cup, Dentelle lace, soft blue hues and ribbon trim…

Nails dug into his hand drawing blood from their crescent imprint and tearing him away from his closeted thoughts. "Are you listening to me, Neil?" He looked down into Miss Cole's angry glare which pierced through his expensive shades.

He licked his lips; she smiled. "Where were you?" Her voice tempted a confession as if she could peel back the layers of his subconscious.

"I was…" He trailed off as a black van approached their position.

Miss Cole let go of her firm grip. "Oh good, the cavalry's here." She turned back to his veiled, grey eyes. "I do like a man in uniform, how about you, Neil?"

He swallowed under her gaze, his focus travelling to the soldiers exiting the UNIT vehicle. For a moment he was drawn to the part of their lips his mind painting them in flashes of colour; Neil was both mortified and aroused.

"Coming, Neil?" Her tone played with the words, toying with the stir of his emotions.

He heard someone snigger behind him and turned to the small squint of Preston Syde; a man with domineering eyebrows and yellow teeth, who paid overweight Thai girls for sex in seedy hotel rooms. Neil met his lopsided glance and doubled its intensity with his own knowing stare; one that said he knew of Syde's dirty little liaisons. The other man visibly wilted and turned his direction to the scuff on his patent shoes.

"Ma'am." A rigid officer stood in front of Miss Cole.

"Captain?"

"I'm afraid the lift's not functioning."

Lucy smiled. "Well then, we'll have to use the tourist office_, _won't we?" She looked from the UNIT man to Neil. "And, Captain, bring the device with you, I need to set it up as soon as possible, don't want any gatecrashers spoiling my little soiree _just_ yet."

The military man clicked his heels with a salute and then went to bark orders to the rest of his company.

---------------------------

Ianto Jones stiffened slightly at the sound of the bell, nervously adjusting his suit cuffs before looking to the woman standing in the doorway. She smiled with a tilt of her head, her stare encompassing more than the scope her eyes. Ianto smiled back with practiced ease, his gaze travelling beyond her to the UNIT officers shuffling through the limited entrance. "Expecting trouble, ma'am?" he asked.

"That depends, Mr Jones," Lucy Cole answered with soft lips that betrayed the teeth beneath.

"Ma'am?" His question was left hanging as two soldiers staggered through the door carrying a heavy piece of equipment covered with military issue tarpaulin.

Lucy watched their efforts. "Place it carefully down, there," she instructed, her tone sharp and efficient and Ianto sensed something, fleetingly, beneath its timber.

She turned her attention back to Welshman. "You remember Mr Down from your brief employment at Canary Wharf?" She indicated to Neil who stood eclipsed in her shadow.

"Yes, of course," Ianto acknowledged with a nod of his head. "Congratulations on your promotion."

Neil, grudgingly, returned the gesture with a murmured thanks.

"And I don't believe we've had the pleasure, Mr Jones. Lucy Cole, head of all things alien." She held out her hand to the young man.

Ianto looked to her elegant reach, his own fingers stretching across the information desk to mirror the formal greeting, but something stopped him. His gaze touched her face, drawn to the overlap of pain and sorrow resonating from her eyes. It seeped into his skin, crying in despair, fuelling his troubled thoughts before their echo was swamped by another's calculating stare.

He curled is fingers back, afraid of what the touch would leave.

"And how can Torchwood Three assist the ministry?" Jack's voice shattered the moment as he filled the clandestine doorway to the Hub.

Lucy withdrew her hand, turning her body to confront the other man. "Well, well, look who's decided to make a dramatic entrance. Captain Harkness, it's been a while." Her lips curled in contempt as she matched his stare.

Jack crossed his arms over his chest, his body blocking any access. "A bit heavy handed for an _impromptu_ visit."

Lucy narrowed her eyes to view the man silhouetted in the entrance. "Oh, my dear captain, this isn't just a meet and greet." She gestured theatrically with her hand. "But I think you already know that." Her stare bore unnervingly deep; Jack had to stop himself giving Ianto a sideways glance.

"So let's get down to the nitty gritty shall we?" Lucy let her tongue savour the pleasing tone of the words.

"Yes, let's," Jack answered with mock pleasantries.

The woman gestured to Neil who stepped forward. "We have it on good authority that you and your team have been compromised…"

Jack ignored the other man levelling his stare at Miss Cole. "Compromised?"

Lucy smiled. "Yes Captain, compromised."

Jack narrowed his eyes. "By what?"

The young woman met his stare with a smug tug of her lips. "By _whom_," she corrected.

"The Doctor," Down quickly enlightened, hoping to catch the other man out.

Jack masked his feelings well, remaining stoic in the door frame. "Really?" He asked with indifference, sounding surprised at the accusation.

This time it was Lucy's turn to repeat the question. "Really," she replied with an arch of an eyebrow.

The captain lent against the doorframe. "I think you should check your source," he offered helpfully. "Or sources?"

Lucy gave a snort. "Oh, our intelligence is excellent, Captain, we're just here to establish how far in your organisation this_ association_ goes." She threw a glance in Ianto's direction; the young man did not react.

Fear crept through Jack's bones; he remained in the doorway, weighing up his options. Neil took another step forward, his finger pointing accusingly at the other man. "Look, Harkness, this is a government backed investigation, now stand aside unless, of course, you've something to hide?" His thin lips spread into a smile.

"Down, Neil," Jack parried with a cocky smirk; the other man's face flushed with anger. The captain turned his attention to Lucy. "Snappy little lapdog, isn't he?"

Neil moved angrily toward the captain, but Lucy held him back with an iron grip around his wrist. She turned to one of the soldiers who immediately took the safety off his weapon. She looked at Ianto and smiled. "_We're going on a Hub hunt_. _Perhaps we'll catch a big lie. What a beautiful day, we're not scared."_

She let her fingertips trail over Neil shoulder as she walked toward the man obstructing their pathway into the Hub. Ianto shot a fearful look in Jack's direction, disturbed that no one else was finding this the least bit odd. The others in Miss Cole retinue seemed not to notice, their eyes fixed and vacant as if their minds were lost on some other parallel.

"_Uh-uh! Captain Jack Harkness. We can't go over him. We can't go under him. Oh no! We'll have to go through him."_ She looked over at the armed man who immediately raised the automatic weapon in the captain's direction.

Lucy Cole inclined her head, stepping to the side to whisper in Jack's ear. "Go on, Freak, make my day."

Laughter echoed in captain's head; the sound of which he knew all too well. He staggered back as if suckered punched, his eyes searching for answers on the woman's veiled face. Her smile taunted him, urging him to react.

"Jack?" Ianto concerned voice cut through his frenzied mind.

He looked to the younger man, catching the misgiving in his pale blue eyes.

'_I made a promise.' _Jack's earlier words settled his resolve.

He took a deep breath and smiled in Miss Cole's direction, stepping away from the entrance. "After you, ma'am," he said with a sweep of his arm.

"Oh no, Captain, after you." She turned and glared at Ianto. "Mr Jones, if you would be so kind…" She gestured for the young man to follow in formation.

One of the UNIT men turned the sign on the door to closed and then ushered Ianto with a flick of his rifle butt through the entrance to the Hub.


	5. I Walk This Empty Street

**I Walk This Empty Street - 5**

Jack looked into the film of his reflection in the perspex of the holding cell. His mind wrestled with the demons goading his subconscious and the laughter still echoing around his head. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to silence the tumultuous thoughts of both worry and guilt.

"What the fuck's going on, Jack?" Gwen hissed as she paced around the enclosed space, trying to make sense of their incarceration. "What the hell are they looking for?" Her anxious stare tore right through him.

The team had been relieved of all personal possessions, methodically stripped of phones, wallets, bags; even Tosh's glasses, Jack's braces and Ianto's jacket had been taken.

"Jack?" she prompted gently, trying to get past the other man's silence.

The captain sighed and scrubbed his face wearily, sparing a glance at Ianto before he spoke. "Apparently we've been compromised," he offered, spreading his hands over his bent knees.

Gwen looked to where he was sat. "Compromised?" she echoed. "By what?"

Jack snorted. "Not what but who."

Gwen crossed her arms over her chest. "Okay," she continued, "who?"

Owen sat up from where he was led on the floor, resting back on his hands to support himself, Tosh lifted her gaze from the clasp of her fingers, both waiting for the answer; only Ianto averted his eyes, following the join of the perspex as he leant against the transparent wall.

"The Doctor," Jack replied, feeling the three sets of eyes widen.

"But…" Gwen stopped herself remembering the surveillance devices in the cells. "But we've never had any dealings with him," she amended; it wasn't a lie.

Jack pushed is head back onto the clear wall with a dull thud. "Tried telling them that, does seem to wash." He stared at her; Gwen bit her lip and sat down next to him, their shoulders touching slightly.

"Really?" Owen offered with a grind of teeth, his eyes burning a hole through the other man.

"Really," Jack stated, deflecting the doctor with a flinty stare of his own.

Owen shook his head and lent back down, his hands making a makeshift pillow against the hard floor. "Knob," he sighed to no one in particular, staring at the low ceiling.

"Look, they'll find nothing to substantiate these claims…"

Ianto moved away from cell front, his forehead leaving a smear where it had been resting against the surface. "They'll find nothing," Jack quickly intervened, stopping the younger man from voicing whatever was on his mind.

"So why are they messing with the rift manipulator, again?" Owen queried.

"What do you mean?" Jack shifted his arse slightly against the cold floor.

The doctor sighed. "Tell them, Tosh."

They turned to the young woman who was half hidden by the holding cell's shadows. Tosh pulled at the material of her skirt, trying to tug it over her exposed knees. "The device they brought with them," she began, "I saw them attaching it to the manipulator."

This time Ianto held the captain's stare.

Owen sat up again, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Well, I hope they know what they're doing, 'cos either Cardiff's going to be ripped apart and sucked into the rift or, Ianto's going to shoot the lot of them. Our tea boy gets very possessive over who's allowed to fiddle with the rift manipulator." He winked at the camera before throwing a smile in Ianto's direction.

--

Lucy was floating in the black velvet stream that was her inner being. She was just a disembodied thought, drifting through a continual nightmare and reaching blindly for the unattainable dream of life or even death. For she was nothing but a trapped soul, trapped in her own bulk by the man she had once loved.

_Had?_ For even now she craved his touch, that poisonous contact that gave her substance that made her real, solid, alive. However brief his visits, however physical his caresses, however cheap his compliments, she longed for each bruise, each cloying sentiment, each tortuous kiss. It was better than the chasm of her own thoughts and the madness their persecution brings.

_Was this insanity?_ Her father would know. Her father who'd had her life all mapped out by the time she was three, he would know, wouldn't he?

She wondered if he'd allowed for mental illness? If it had been a 'point of interest' on the road to destination Lucy Cole, woman of importance?

'_In two hundred yards turn right, turn right, turn right into Bedlam.'_

_Do basket cases still weave baskets?_ She might break a nail. Maybe they'd let her paint. Colour, she missed colours, even red. Harry liked her in red. She'd worn red to meet the queen, until Harry had…

There'd been a lot of red that day.

_Dear Daddy, I think I'm a sandwich short of a picnic - all because you wanted me to marry the man who would be king. You remember Harry, Daddy? He reminded me of you. He reminded you of you. Look at me Dad, top of the world, only it feels like hell._

Hell. _Shush, don't tell anyone, I think I'm already here, there, hell is everywhere. _

_It's in the trees! It's coming!_

_A sandwich short of a picnic. _She liked picnics and banana sandwiches and fizzy drinks that made her burp.

'_Manners darling,_' her mother would reprimand.

Yes, she liked fizzy drinks, they bubbled up her nose.

Bubbles. Perhaps that's what she is now, a bubble up her own nose. Only bubbles hold rainbows in their souls not darkness.

Could her father love a bubble? Could a bubble be Queen?

But bubbles burst, like love, like Harry, like hearts.

_Daddy's heart burst but that never happen, it was only pretend_; _it was a year that never was._

Love, trust, bust, rust, dust.

_Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, poor old Lucy Cole's a junkie_.

If she could breathe, she would sigh, if she had a choice would she die? She wanted to laugh, she wanted to cry, take a drink or two, here's mud in your eye.

_Help me, Daddy, help me, please__!_

_Is this insanity? Am I mad?_

Nobody answered.

--

Sarah Jane looked at the text message.

O.G.

Be ready. Wait for my signal.

She smiled as she deleted it from her phone, looking across to the photos on the attic beam. "O.G. indeed," she whispered to an earlier life.


	6. On The Boulevard Of Broken Dreams

**On The Boulevard Of Broken Dreams - 6**

Lucy Cole, her feet crossed on top of Jack's desk, watched the live CCTV feed from the cells while enjoying a quarter pound bag of jelly babies. An anxious cough sounded from the doorway making the woman look up and quash a flash of annoyance.

"Pres, Preston, Presley, we up and running yet?" She stood with a push of her long legs; the chair careering back into a bookshelf knocking several reports and artefacts to the floor.

The man looked at his shoes. "We've, um, there's a problem with accessing the data you require." His overgrown teeth struggled with the words while dispensing small quantities of saliva.

Lucy tore the head off a yellow jelly baby. "Don't give me problems, Pres, give me solutions," she offered with an arch of an eyebrow, while savouring the piquant of lemon as she rolled the little gummy nub around her mouth.

"Um," Syde continued, "I can't, Miss Cole, I can't get into the mainframe. They're using some sort of advanced encryption - I've never seen anything like it; not to mention the mainframe's, well, you know, actually alive." He spat out the last word making Lucy wince.

She sucked on the remains of the decapitated body, smearing it with traces of red from her lips. "Tell me something I don't already know, Pres." She held up her hand. "Oh wait, like that's going to happen."

Lucy pushed the tacky sweet into her mouth and swallowed it whole before pulling out her pocket watch. "This is the problem when you work with apes," she complained.

She released the clasp on the timepiece and looked into its dial. "Don't really have time for this," she exclaimed into its face, "I'm on a deadline here!"

She looked up. "Walk with me, Presley."

"Preston, Miss Cole," the man timidly corrected. "It's, it's Preston, ma'am."

Lucy stretched into a meaningless smile. "Jelly baby?" She held out the small, white, paper bag.

Preston's analytical mind debated the offer while his tongue absently slicked his lips; he'd always been partial to them from his university days. He reached into the bag but Miss Cole was holding its neck too tightly, making it difficult for him to take a sweet. He persevered, though, grappling with the little gelatine shapes until, after a little effort, Preston managed to grab hold of a jelly baby, his thick fingers tearing the paper as he did. He looked at Miss Cole giving her a nervous and apologetic smile; her face remained blank. He pulled his hand out and looked down at his acquisition - a purple little man.

"Blackcurrant's my favourite," Lucy informed him, eyeing the small, plump, figure between his furred fingers.

Preston swallowed and despite the chill in the room, he found himself sweating. "Sorry," he offered meekly, making an effort to put it back.

Lucy batted his fingers away and tucked the ripped packet into her suit pocket. "Well, what are you waiting for? Eat the damn thing!"

Syde quickly put the jelly baby into his mouth not bothering to chew before swallowing. Lucy watched him. "Ever heard of screaming jelly babies?" she asked, as the sweet stuck in his throat.

Preston coughed loudly to dislodge the glob of gelatine, nodding enthusiastically at her question. "Of course, we did it at school and then at Uni for fun. You place about half a teaspoon of potassium chlorate in a large test tube, heat it to melt the powder then drop a jelly baby down the tube. The sweet bursts into flames, making a screaming sound as it burns and afterwards the room smells of burnt toffee or candy floss. "

Lucy smiled, bending closer to Syde's ear. Her breath was cold as it grazed his neck. "Ever seen it done on a human being? It doesn't smell of candy floss afterwards."

She moved away and if Preston's bladder had been weaker he would have wet himself.

-----------------------------

Lucy entered the cells flanked by several UNIT soldiers and a smug looking Neil Down. He couldn't help the arrogant smile as he witnessed the mighty Captain Jack and his team languishing in the containment bay; it made him feel superior all the way down to the twitch of his nether regions. He coughed, it echoed off the brickwork. Lucy cast a glance in his direction, her gaze travelling downward with a knowing accuracy that made his cheeks flush almost puce.

Gwen neared the perspex crossing her arms over her chest. "How long are you planning on keeping us in here?" she demanded, directing her thorny stare at the other woman.

"That depends," Lucy answered with a slight tilt of her head.

"On what?" Owen spat, standing up.

Lucy shrugged. "Life, the universe and everything. Now, if you'd please step aside…" She placed her hand near the electronic key pad to release the door, raising an eyebrow in Gwen's direction; the other woman remained where she was.

Lucy sighed. "Please, Miss Cooper, I would hate to shoot you before we've had a change to get reacquainted…"

Gwen frowned. "Reacquainted but I…"

The UNIT men readied their weapons. "Gwen." Jack pulled the Welshwoman gently back by the shoulder. She shot a frustrated glance in his direction; the captain shook his head.

"Nicely done, Captain," Miss Cole remarked as she punched in the code; the door slid open.

Lucy clasped her hands together and smiled at each of the Torchwood employees. "Now then, I'll get straight to the point…"

"Please do," Jack countered, putting himself between her and his team; his shadow darkening Lucy's face.

She stepped into the cell under the watchful gaze of the armed men. "Seems we're having problems accessing your mainframe."

Jack shook his head. "Have you tried switching it off and back on again?" he suggested with a shrug.

"Or control, alt, delete?" Owen offered, leaning back against the wall, sharing a quick grin with Tosh.

Lucy snorted, ignoring their recommendations and took a step nearer Ianto. "There also seems to be some inconsistencies in your archives, certain items seemed to be…" she drew close to his ear, "…missing." Her breath ghosted over his neck; he moved away but kept eye contact.

"Are you sure, ma'am?" he asked.

"Oh yes, Mr Jones, quite. Neil, bless him, brought an itemised list of the ministry's last inspection, there are quite a few discrepancies."

Down moved into the cell. "Under Torchwood directive thirty-nine, point five. it is a _sackable_ offence to knowingly remove an item from the archive for personal gain or…" he began in a condescending tone.

"Unless you have written consent," Ianto interrupted with a certain amount of nonchalance.

"Written consent?" Neil repeated, looking sharply at the Welshman. "I've not seen…" He flipped over some paperwork he held in his hand, glancing across at Miss Cole.

"On my desk, _somewhere_," Jack offered with a flick of his eyebrows. "Re-categorizing some of the technology down there, hell of a job…"

"But someone's got to do it," Ianto finished, holding the captain's gaze for a moment.

Jack turned to Lucy. "Now, if that's all?"

"Oh no, Captain, it's far from it." Her chilling smile was familiar. "I see I haven't made myself too clear. I want complete access to your data files and I want all the technology I've listed retrieved from your archives."

Jack spread his hands. "Well, that could take a while…"

Lucy moved closer, her eyes never leaving his. "Miss Sato and Mr Jones have exactly forty-five minutes to accomplish my demands or the rest of your team will suffer, starting with Dr Harper."

"Hey!" Owen cried out, pushing himself from the wall.

Lucy walked towards him and touched his cheek with her scarlet fingertips. "I wonder, Captain, if he will die as bravely this time, maybe I'll arrange the same fate. What about it Doctor Harper, fancy being hung, drawn and quartered again? It was quite a spectacle, drew audiences from all round the world, not as big a Death Idol but then, you're not Captain Jack Harkness, are you?"

Owen flinched away from her touch and grabbed her wrist. "What the fuck?" He squeezed harder. "Is this some sort of joke, lady?"

One of the UNIT officers stepped forward, his handgun drawn, its barrel directed at Owen to reinforce his presence.

Lucy lent forward, her lips almost touching Owen's ear. "Oh no, Dr Harper, we're the government, we never joke. Now please release me or I'll have my man shoot Miss Cooper."

Owen swallowed, letting his grip slide from her arm.

"Andrews?"

The armed man did not relax his stance. "Yes ma'am?"

"Arrange for some sort of gibbet to be erected in the Hub and go to the medical bay, I'm sure they have some sharp implement for cutting a body into parts. If not, try a fire axe, worked well last time if my memory serves me right."

"Jack?" Gwen's confused look darted between the ministry official and her leader.

The captain stepped forward, standing toe to toe with Lucy. "Who are you?" It was a question he really did not want answered.

She laughed; its sound was cutting as it sliced through the cell. "Even a Time Agent of very little brain like yourself must have worked it out by now." She moved her face closer to Jack's; the captain recoiled, stepping back, turning away from her stony stare.

He shook his head. "No, no you're dead. You died in his arms."

"And yet here I stand." She spread out her hands.

Jack moved forward again, aware of the armed men. "How is that possible?" he spat into her face.

"In the words of Will Young – anything is possible – isn't _freak_?" Her grin widened as the captain paled.

Ianto watched the exchange trying to silence the deafening surge of his heartbeat. He blinked and time flickered with him revealing what his soul already knew.

The Master was still alive.

He could see him now, in the briefest slip of time, the overlap separating before him. It was like a double exposure, a man and woman swaying between breaths like duel reflections on a rippling pond.

He swallowed, feeling drawn to Time Lord, a link that pushed from within him and out into the folds of space – and time.

_The Master was still alive. _The statement fell like a hammer as the Doctor stood over the TARDIS console. He collapsed forward, gripping his shirt front as both hearts swelled with the rip of emotion.

He knew, of course he did, in the tumble of sensations that haunted his waking nights, he knew who was in the shadows of his head taunting and tormenting his every thought.

He ran his fingers through his erratic hair to ease the weight from his mind and quell the echoes that troubled his beliefs. Around him the TARDIS stilled, reaching out through his instability, bringing him back from the frayed edges of desolation that had so often been at his core. She soothed his psyche, whispering just one word to free him from his turmoil.

_Ianto. _

The Doctor stood and the TARDIS blazed into life.

Something piqued Lucy's senses. She turned from Jack, listening, as if trying to perceive a distant voice whispered into a hurricane. Her gaze drifted around the cell and Ianto caught the twinned emotions of insanity and sorrow ghosting in her eyes.

_He can see me. _The voice was faint and came from within the moonless layers of a shared and pitted soul.

Lucy grabbed the side of her head. "What, what did you say?"

Jack's eyes strayed to Ianto. The young man seemed to be focusing on Miss Cole, his eyes betraying the pitch of his internal emotions.

"Miss Cole?" Neil moved closer, placing a steadying hand on her elbow.

"Shush!" she exclaimed, tearing herself away from his touch. "I can feel…" She tilted her head. "Something… or some…"

Jack reacted quickly, barrelling his full weight into the Lucy, sending them plummeting to the hard floor. His hand was at her neck in an instant.

"Jack!" Gwen screamed as one of the UNIT men forced her to her knees.

Lucy laughed as Jack pressed against her throat. "Can you survive death again?" he asked, his voice rough with pent up emotion.

She smiled. "Can your team?"

Jack looked over his shoulder to the UNIT men covering the others with their weapons. His hold relaxed slightly. "It could be worth it," he said through gritted teeth.

"Really?" Lucy gasped. "Let's see shall we? Andrews?"

The uniformed man answered, "Ma'am."

"If the Captain does not release me shoot Mr Jones."

Jack applied more pressure. "You need him, remember?"

Lucy pondered this for a moment. "Thank you for reminding me, freak. Andrews, shoot Mr Jones in the leg and then kill Miss Cooper and have her body sent to her fiancé with Captain Jack's compliments."

"Ma'am." The UNIT man moved his aim to Ianto's kneecap; the Welshman struggled against the grip of those holding him.

Jack met her cold-blooded stare and he saw the Master beneath its colour. "What are you hiding, Captain?" she demanded, searching his face. "You know I'll worm it out of you in the end."

Jack relinquished his hold and stood, several UNIT men pulled him away from Miss Cole.

Lucy got up, her stare never leaving the captain's. She smiled unsparingly at him turning to the young UNIT man beside her. "Your gun." She held out her hand as he obeyed her command, placing his sidearm into her reach.

Lucy looked down at the weapon, weighing it in her hand. Jack tried to move forward but was restrained by the two men holding him.

"Eeny, meeny, miny, moe." Lucy pointed the gun at each member of Torchwood Three. "Oh what the heck." Her grin widened and she pulled the trigger. Jack fell to the floor, a bullet hole deepening with blood in his forehead.

Lucy gave the gun back to the young solider and knelt down beside the body. "You know, I've so missed doing that." She placed her finger in the wound to stop the healing process. "Mr Jones, Miss Sato you now have only thirty-eight minutes to complete my demands, if I were you I'd get started." She spared a glance at them both, her rich, red smile offered no warmth.

Ianto took a step forward but Owen held onto his shoulders. "We'll see to Jack," he whispered softly in the young man's ear. "Remember you're on a deadline here."

Ianto's focus remained on the captain. "Still thinking of yourself, Owen?"

"Aren't I always," the doctor replied.

They shared a tight grin and, for a fleeting moment, Ianto recalled Owen's bloated face gasping for air in the grip of the noose. He looked away before his memories betrayed him. Owen tapped him reassuringly on the shoulder as he moved out of the cell to join Tosh; she took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Lucy looked up again, watching as her finger dripped with blood. "I trust you both not to try anything, so please, _do not_ disabuse my belief in human kind as I may order a strip search after; and be warned, my men are very thorough if a bit rough."

She stood, letting the point of her stiletto hover over Jack's throat. She turned to Ianto, arching an eyebrow as she spoke. "Oh, and, Mr Jones, if the captain behaves himself, maybe I'll let him watch." She brought the pointed heel down with force.


	7. Where The City Sleeps

**Where The City Sleeps 7**

Lucy stood looking out over the Plass, the sun adding a Mediterranean feel to the area where the steps and columns were burnished by its light. Red silk whispered against her skin as the breeze caressed her possessively, its warm touch ruffling the rich material as it lapped the length of her body. She stretched out her arms, letting the sunlight drench her exposed skin, and drew a lungful of air.

In, out. In, out.

She touched her chest, feeling it rise and fall and the tremor of her own heartbeat.

In, out. In, out.

Blood pulsed through her arteries while above her seagulls coasted silver in the flawless sky their shadows skimming across the oval basin which danced to the heat of the sun. Each second, each breath elated her senses, each palpable feeling made her heady with delight.

Lucy spun around and her dress twisted at her ankles in a pool of red. She relished the movement with a heartfelt laugh, its joyous sound skipped from her throat and leapt around the silent pillars; the amphitheatre holding onto its pitch and quality.

"Hello," she called across the deserted Plass, smiling at the echo of her own voice.

No one answered. There was nothing out there. Only the water tower bothered to lament an answer; its flowing cascade sounding like thousands of shed tears. She crossed her bare arms and rubbed at the prickle of goosebumps; even in the light she was alone.

"Shush, sweetheart, you're never alone." He stood behind her, folding his arms around her body, his breath making ripples on her skin and she could smell the faint aroma of coffee as he exhaled.

Lucy closed her eyes, swaying slightly into his touch, moulding her body into his. "You look delicious in red," he purred down the length of her neck, teasing a moan from Lucy's lips.

"Yes," she answered, letting the moisture from his breath stir her dormant senses.

In, out. In, out.

His fingers strayed under the thin strap of the dress sending it partially over her shoulder. "Like fire on ice," he whispered, softly kissing the imprint left by the ribbon of material.

"Master," she whispered, leaning into the flame of his touch, the darkness of her emotions betraying her to burn within him.

"Yes," he answered, spinning her round, standing god-like, blocking the rays of the sun so that its light paled behind his silhouette.

He bent close and kissed her. Lucy shuddered with both longing and repulsion.

In, out. In, out.

His mouth attacked her own with a vicious and bruising scrape of lips and teeth, pulling at the sweep of her tightly knotted hair with no kindness or care.

Lucy cupped his face in her hands, letting him devour her with his rapacious kisses that raged against her skin with a cruel obsessive passion; after all, she was nothing without him.

He pulled away and laughed, his dominant stare flawed with all the colours of his madness which bled from his unstable soul. He ran his thumb over the bow of her swollen lips, flattening them with the force of his touch. "Puppet," he whispered, pressing the supple skin against her teeth. "A little wooden puppet, see how I pull your strings."

He softly blew a strand of stray hair from her forehead. "Are you hungry?" His hand travel to her throat and his fingers caressed its width. "It's been a while since we… _talked_?" His breath teased her ear.

Lucy let his brutal fingers journey down her neck, tightening around it as he waited for her to answer.

"Yes," she replied compliantly, careful to avoid his stare.

He pushed against her larynx as she answered. "Good," he said, grabbing her wrist and guiding her to a small bistro table set by one of the columns.

He snapped his fingers; night swarmed across sky and Lucy thought how hollow and lonely the moon looked in the carpet of his night.

_I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together. _The labyrinth of her mind twisted in its meaningless chasm.

He smiled at her but his lips held no hint of humanity as he clapped his hands together to illuminate the sentinel of pillars. "_See how it flies like Lucy in the Sky, see how it runs," _the Master sung in a low and brittle voice.

"_I'm crying," _Lucy answered bitterly.

He gestured for her to sit by pulling out one of the wrought iron chairs. "Then let's see if we can put a smile on that lovely face, hm? Would you like some music? Of course you would."

A small troop of men appeared: three with acoustic guitars, one playing a double bass and in their centre Dean Martin materialised singing, 'Memories are Made of This.'

The Master sat down opposite her, placing a napkin on his lap with a flourish of movement. "See how I paint the world for you, my love." He looked over to Martin and waved; the singer winked back.

"Champagne, good, let's celebrate?" He reached for a bottle resting in an ice filled silver bucket.

He smiled at her as the cork popped and a froth of bubbles cascaded from the open neck onto the ground. The Master took her glass and Lucy watched the excited rush of bubbles rise to the top and foam over its rim.

_Bubbles make you burp,_ _bubbles make you burp,_ _bubbles make you burp,_ her thoughts ran like a train as he tipped his full glass toward her, gesturing for her to pick up her own. She grabbed its slender stem, a froth of champagne still clinging to its smooth surface.

"To revenge," the Master toasted, eyeing her over the brim.

"To revenge," Lucy chorused but her mind betrayed her. _To freedom, to freedom…_

His smile was bright but his eyes held their darkness. "Now, let's not rush things, shall we, I so enjoy having your input."

"Please," she whispered, reaching across the table to snatch at his hand. "Please let me go. Harry, please."

The Master looked down at her hand. "I don't believe you've drank to my toast," he reminded, his tone bristling.

Lucy pulled her hand away. "Of course, I'm… I'm sorry."

She lifted the flute to her mouth and took a sip, her eyes never leaving his watchful gaze. Lucy waited for the liquid to fizz and pop on her tongue in an alcoholic buzz of bubbles; instead it thickened as it touched her lips, coating the inside of her mouth with the metallic taste of iron. She dropped the glass; it shattered on the flagstones as she gagged on its contents, placing a hand over her mouth.

Blood. It seeped from between her lips and fingers, leaving an ugly red trail dripping down her chin and onto her dress.

"Not thirsty, darling? Then let's see if I can tempt you with a little something to eat." The Master stood and lifted the lid from a silver serving dome which had suddenly appeared on the table.

For a moment her mind stalled and the music faded to a hushed and even sinister whisper. _Sweet, sweet, memories you gave-a me. You can't beat, the memories you gave-a me._

She looked to the chased scrolls and flowers etched on the polished metal cover; she had seen it before, it belonged to her family.

_One girl, one boy, some grief, some joy…_

Lucy's gaze froze on the platter, stifling a scream as she rose in horror, knocking her chair backwards. Her father's head stared back at her, surrounded by a salad garnish. His mouth fell opened and maggots wriggled from the cavity as he sang along. "_Don't forget a small moonbeam, fold in lightly with a dream…" _

She dragged her eyes back to the man who was sharpening the carving knife. "A little off the top for you?" he asked, piecing the top of her father's head with the two pronged fork. Lucy staggered back stumbling over the upturned chair.

"Not hungry, darling?" She shook her head. "Then let's dance."

He grabbed Lucy and pulled her to him, her traitorous body still craving contact even though her mind fumbled incoherently in its dismay. She went limp against his strong hold, her head finding comfort on his shoulder. They swayed to the music, Lucy drawing on the echoing beat of his heart, finding its repeat cathartic in the shadows of her mind.

The Master smelt her hair and gentle stroked the back of her neck. "So tell me, darling, what do you make of Torchwood Three?" The question lapped against her ear. "Our flamboyant freak, what did you make of him?"

Lucy looked up, but the Master no longer held her in his arms, instead Jack Harkness twirled her round in a showy display of hips over dramatic arms. Harry was gone, taking Dean Martin's place in the troop, miming along while watching them interact.

The captain pulled her close, rocking her body between his legs, following the rhythm of the music, his wool coat scratching against her cheek. "Well?" Harry was inpatient for his answer.

Lucy met Jack's blue eyes and he smiled at her, but it was empty and false. This wasn't real. The captain was forged from the Master's bitter concept; this Harkness was all loud and flash; his gaze as lurid as the grin fixed on his face.

_Puppets, _her own mind whispered. _Am I real at all? _

_Yellow matter custard, dripping from a dead dog's eye. Crabalocker fishwife, pornographic priestess… _Her thoughts spiralled in twists and loops.

"I'm waiting!" Harry's voice severed through her maddening thoughts.

"He's hiding something," she replied, hastily.

Saxon rolled his eyes. "That's obvious, but what?"

"I don't know."

"Are you sure?" His stare melted into her.

Lucy nodded. Harry grabbed a guitar and began to play. "And what about the good Dr Harper?" He was close now, his irregular notes jarring against those of the song.

Rough hands grabbed her, exploring her body beneath the façade of red silk, groping and cupping her arse. Owen Harper had taken the captain's place as he tried to dance with clumsy timing, stepping on her toes while his eyes and touch undressed her. Lucy swallowed as Owen bit into her neck, she tried to prise him from her, but he snarled, his face ridged and folded in an animalistic expression. The Master cuffed him on top of the head, Owen yelped. "Play nice," he admonished. He turned his attention to Lucy. "Well?" he sang as his fingers strummed discordantly.

"I…"

"Come, dear, you had so much to say in the cells earlier, what was it?" He cupped his hand behind his ear in the pretence of listening.

Owen's hands forcibly pulled at her dress. "I don't know, Harry, please…"

He considered her for a moment snapping his fingers at Harper. Owen stepped back and immediately turned to marble.

_These are the dreams you will savour…._

The Master draped an arm over the newly formed statue. "And what about that raw-boned youth, Jones?" He brushed some dust from _Owen's _shoulder and blew it toward her; Ianto began to take shape from the partials as they joined together in the burst of a moonbeam.

The Welshman held out his hand to Lucy in an invitation to dance. She stepped forward and took it in her own and he gave it a gentle squeeze. She held her breath and looked into his eyes.

_Are you real? Can you see me? Can you see the thing I've become, the nothing that's neither shadow nor light?_

His eyes held her image, giving her definition in their pale seas. This man was no facsimile.

_Yes, I can see you. _It was a breeze of a moment, a hush of autumn leaves, a ghost of a moon moth - but she heard it.

A tear slid down her cheek and Ianto stretched out his hand letting the salt water glide across his fingers before wiping it away.

Lucy exhaled.

"What? What do you see?" The Master grabbed at her hand, squeezing her fingers.

In, out. In, out.

Lucy looked to Ianto but he was gone, only Harry's blueprint remained - a soulless copy in an expensive suit.

In, out. In, out. In…

Lucy threw her head back, letting her hair fall from its pins and laughed like she had forgotten how.

"What?" Harry looked from her to Welshman, forcing Lucy to her knees. He could see nothing but a boy stuffed in a suit. "Tell me!" His face flushed with anger as his grip compressed the fine bones of her hand, crushing them.

She welcomed the pain. "What is it?" he yelled again.

The oval basin fell away and darkness swamped her, choking her in its cloth. The Master stood vibrant in the shadows of their enclosed minds, lashing out with the back of his hand. It burned her skin, the ring on his finger drawing more blood.

"You can't hide anything from me. I'm here in your thoughts," he yelled, pushing himself through the corridors of her mind.

Lucy screamed, the sound gaining momentum in her emptiness. _But I can_. She realised as he hit her again and again. _And today I have touched; I have felt - without you. I am the eggman, they are the eggmen. I am the walrus, goo goo g'joob. _She laughed again._  
_

The Master continued his assault, striking her until she bled crimson in her own mind, his rage acute and sharpened by unchecked insanity. "Why are you making me do this?" he reasoned. "Do you think I have time to indulge your sycophantic fantasies?"

He grabbed her by the throat. "Now tell me what you saw?"

Lucy's laughter swam in blood, spraying his noble face as she continued to grin. "Hope," she whispered as he squeezed one more meaningless life from her.


	8. And I'm The Only One And I Walk Alone

**And I'm The Only One And I Walk Alone - 8**

Neil watched Jones assemble the items from the list. The boy worked calmly and efficiently and he liked it that way, no call for wasted small talk or reminiscing between them, Jones knew his place.

Neil sat at a desk in the archives, the spread of Torchwood Three's personal items laid out in front of him. He picked up a purse belonging to Miss Sato and began to rifle through it, pen and paper at the ready in case he found anything of interest.

Ianto turned at the spill of coins as Neil emptied one of the purse's compartments over the scratched wooden top of the table; Down gestured for him to continue backed up by the ever looming presence of Andrews. The Welshman looked between the two officious men with indifference then cast a quick glance at his watch before resuming his task.

Andrew's gave a snort of laughter before mumbling something close to Ianto's ear that sounded very much like: 'tick, tock.'

Neil shook his head with a sigh, studying the UNIT thug from where he sat. Andrews bore an uncanny resemblance to an Action Man figure his Aunt Flick had bought him on his eighth birthday - right down to the fuzzy hair and diagonal scar running across his cheek. He wondered if, underneath the uniform, Andrews would be as flexible as his aptly named Charlie Foxtrot had been. Ball joints sprang suddenly to mind, ball joints, gripping hands, large flat feet and flesh coloured lips, which he had painted with a felt-tip to match the bikini he had stolen from his cousin's large headed Sindy doll.

Charlie Foxtrot in a hand-knitted, red bikini had been Neil's boyhood secret until his mother had found the toy hidden under his mattress. She had laughed at him, calling him names he had only previously heard in giggles and whispers at school. And then she had beat him heavily with the toy, whipping the evil from his mind by thrashing his small body.

Charlie Foxtrot ended up on the Methodist bonfire and Neil had watched transfixed as the toy melted in the snarl of flames and dissolving wool.

Andrews turned, catching the way Neil was staring at him. He puckered his lips and blew the other man a kiss, his eyes holding the same contempt as Neil's mother's; Down return the taunt with a caustic glare; perhaps Andrews could meet the same fate as Charlie Foxtrot.

Down turned his attention back to the contents spread over the table: A couple of small batteries, loose change, a token for a supermarket trolley and a small pewter pixie sat on a pasty. He picked this up and turned it between his thumb and forefinger, studying its face and its small empty eyes. He placed it with the coins and checked through the purse once more finding a folded piece of thick paper in the middle pouch. Neil opened it up and read the italic words. _Look after this pixie and he will look after you. A bringer of Luck, Good Fortune & Health. Made in the UK from Lead-Free Pewter. _

There was a loud crash making Neil look up. Jones had let the contents of one of the secure boxes fall to the floor and was staring across the archives, his one arm held out invitingly. Neil followed the boy's focus; there was nothing there but the darkness of the old subway tunnels. He stood and gave a curt nod at Andrews; the UNIT man pulled out his handgun with an unfeeling smile. "I want you pick this shit up." He gestured with the barrel to the mess on the floor. "And don't try anything stupid, remember: tick, tock."

"Yes, I can see you," Jones replied, still looking across the room.

"Well, I'm bloody glad you can," Andrews retorted, his face twisting cruelly. "Now get on your fucking knees and pick all this shit up!"

Ianto's fingers stretched out and caressed the air; the military man brought the gun down on the extended wrist causing the Welshman to pitch forward.

"What the hell did you do that for?" Neil's voice rose in annoyance as he moved from behind the desk. "He's no good to us injured…"

"Cole said I could shoot him earlier," Andrews argued unconcerned.

"In the leg, you idiot, we still need him to find the equipment, which he can't do with a broken wrist - and that's Miss Cole to you!" The threatening anger in his amber eyes made the UNIT man back down and step away.

Down grabbed Ianto off the floor by the material of his shirt, the shoulder seams straining as he pulled him up. "Can you continue?" Neil asked, turning the injured man to face him.

Ianto blinked, suppressing something in the pool of his eyes as Down challenged their depths, coming up short from their pale, blue, irises; the hue of which reminding him of the soft satin next to his own skin. Neil averted his gaze to the Welshman's wrist, his long fingers exploring the angry mark blooming under Ianto's pale skin.

The young man bit down in pain, the soft jut of his lips darkening almost cherry with the action. "Yes," he answered, snatching his hand away.

Neil felt a pleasurable burn in that deprived place held fast in a weave of tight lace. He swallowed, trying to ignore the see-saw of his emotions. "Carry on then," he bristled, averting his gaze from the blush Ianto's lips. "And don't try anything like that again."

He turned back to the desk catching the knowing wink from the UNIT man.

---------------------------

The Master settled himself back into Lucy's body and stood, stretching the woman's limbs. He paced, the sound of her heels punctuating his thoughts as his anger imploding in shards. He could hear her whimpering against the clowns he had sent to punish her insubordination. They were part of her childhood nightmares, cartoon shadows cast upon the sepia canvas of a tent from the film Dumbo, their blackened, comic, outlines always waiting to shatter her dreams and take her down into the realms of terror. He laughed at the reality of those large plump hands bruising her bloodless skin as they danced in silhouette to the merry tune of an accordion.

"_Oh, we're gonna hit the big boss for a raise…" _He sing-songed picking up Jack's Webley to use as a baton.

Inside herself, Lucy cried out against the bloated shapes with their wacky hair and large, gaping mouths.

The Master smiled and buried her deep in their joint consciousness, trying to absorb that spark of defiance that had ruffled him earlier.

_Hope. _The word echoed around her despair.

He laughed again. What did she have to hope for but a quick death? And yet something had given her faith. For a glancing moment an optimism had shone though her dull eyes and he had felt its sugar coated belief crawl through her miserable existence.

He slammed the butt of the gun down on Jack's desk; nothing was going to spoil his revenge! Nothing! He stared at the Webley, feeling the coolness of the metal against Lucy's skin. He turned the revolver sideway and ran the other hand over the gun's profile, spinning the cylinder to listen to its satisfying clicks. He let Lucy's finger brushed the trigger, following its smooth curvature, tapping into its apathy and strength; the weight of life and death fashioned in cold steel. He brought the gun to her nose and inhaled the smell of the dark metal seasoned with powder and oil; it smelt of death, it needed death - it was death's tool.

Someone cleared their throat; he looked up and saw Preston standing in the doorway.

Lucy's lips twisted into a smile.

-----------------------------------------------------

Neil opened Ianto's wallet, the grainy leather creaking softly as he flexed its spine. He quickly thumbed through the neatly organised bank notes, in one of the full length pockets, before turning his attention to the other; a folded slip of paper caught his eye. He glanced up; Ianto was stood with Andrews looking over his shoulder as he dismantled a small device for the circuit board Miss Cole had requested. Neil went back to the task in hand, pulling the cream coloured paper from between the embossed satin compartment. He placed the wallet on the desk and carefully opened up the creased sheet. It was a handwritten receipt from a Jeweller's in the Royal Arcade - Edward Davis. He quickly scanned the copy:

Ref: 1534

To clean and service one antique pocket watch with nautical design (COA)…

_Pocket watch._ The words sparkled through Neil's mind with a certain amount of desire. The boy had a pocket watch, an antique. He looked to the date on the receipt; it had been at the jeweller's for over a month. His stared drifted to the Welshman; the boy did not deserve such a timepiece if he could not be bothered to collect it. Neil did. He would look after it, cherish it, it would be a symbol of his rise through the ranks of the department, he alone was worthy of such an antique.

He folded the paper and placed it in his pocket.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Preston averted his eyes to the floor a little unnerved by the sight of his superior playing with the handgun. He coughed again. "Miss Cole, um, we're in." He lifted his stare to meet hers.

Lucy's florid grin never relaxed as she spun the revolver's cylinder again, her head tilted to the orderly snap of the chambers. "That's great news Pres and Miss Sato?" She placed the gun down on the desk and moved in front of it.

"I… um…" he twisted his charity shop tie nervously, "… there was some talk about a, um, search? I thought seeing as she was my responsibility…"

Miss Cole perched on the corner of the desk, letting an expensive shoe flap against the back of her sole, a smell of sweaty leather and nylon permeating the air. She looked back to the revolver. "A bit on the skinny side for your tastes, eh, Pres? But beggars can't be choosers, can they?" Her long fingers stroked its barrel as she levelled her stare at him.

Syde swallowed. "Miss Cole, I…"

"I mean, when an opportunity arises, you grab it with those thick, furry, ape fingers of yours, don't you Preston, no matter what the consequences?" Her glare had the corrosion of acid.

"I'm not quite sure..?" The man stuttered

Lucy held up a silencing hand. "I've been thinking." She picked up the revolver and sprang lightly from the desk. "About us."

Preston's attention went to the weapon. "Us?"

She sighed and walked towards him. "I see now I made a mistake."

Lucy let the gun fall to her side while her other hand fingered the knot of his tie. Syde watched her loud, red nails fondle the cheap material. "Mistake?" he gulped.

Her touch went to his face. "Why did you do it, Pres?" Her eyes became wide and appealing as she laid her head against his bulky shoulder.

"Do what, ma'am?" Preston could smell the deep aroma of her perfume, it was fruity and intoxicating, with slightly spiced floral notes that hinted at danger and glowed red in his mind.

"Eat Bigheart," she sobbed into the tender trap of his ear, wiping away a mock tear.

"Bigheart?" Syde tried to grasp the name, rolling it around his memory. "Oh, the, the jelly baby!" He gave a slightly nervous chuckle.

Miss Cole moved away from him. "You think it's funny?" She pointed the revolver at him; Preston's squinty eye grew big.

"I, um, no, um, you, you, offered," he reasoned with a certain amount of saliva and surrendering his hands.

Lucy's gaze was stony. "I was being polite, you ignoramus!"

She shook her head, sucking the resentment back in. "Oh, Preston, Preston, Preston." She pushed the barrel into his flabby cheek making a dent as she sighed. "A genius, such as myself, has very few pleasures left in life."

She moved behind him, the gun straying to the back of his head. "Just checking out angles here, Pres, don't want to ruining my new suit." The man whimpered and drooled, the sound shuddering through his thickset body.

"Now where was I? Ah, yes. One of those pleasures, be it small, is surprises. You see, Pres, I know all. I've travelled through time and space, I've lived and died, been a king, even been a god for a while, seen the end of this miserable little speck of a planet and many more besides and, between you and me, even help end a few where I could. So you see, Presley, it's a case of been there, done that and you, you little overweight ape, would deny me the simple pleasure of my jelly baby."

"But I…" The gun tapped him harshly on the back of the head.

"I'm talking here, Pres, let's not shorten those last few minutes you have left shall we? It could be important." The revolver slid up and down the back of his neck.

Lucy licked her free hand and smoothed down his comb-over, patting it in place. "I pick up the bag, I give it a little shake, I place my hand in and 'oh,' I say to myself, 'I wonder what flavour will delight my taste buds now.' Do you know why I say that, Pres, do you, do you?" His hair flicked back; Lucy rolled her eyes.

"Miss Cole, please…" the man snivelled.

She smacked the top of his head. "Because it's a surprise! I agree with you, I could, if I had a care to, work out the numbers, of course I could, but do you know why I don't?"

"You, you like surprises," Syde whispered through the tears.

"You got it, Pres." Her smile flared against the light of the room. "So you understand where I'm coming from when I say, I'm sorry, Pres, there's just no room on my team for you anymore." Her lips drifted to his ear. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to terminate your employment, for good."

"Miss Cole, please…" Syde pleaded again, trying to catch her in the corner of his eye.

"Looking a little tense there, Pres, how about some music to get us in the mood, eh?"

A song suddenly swam around Syde's terror, a gentle tune he remembered from his childhood, his frightened mind fighting against the simple melody.

_Train whistle blowin', makes a sleepy noise; underneath their blankets go all the girls and boys…_

The deadly metal of the gun swayed along to its rhythm, ruching the flabby skin at the back of his neck.

Miss Cole began to sing along, the sound of her voice crippling his ragged resolve. "Please," he begged again, "I'm sorry, it won't happen again, Miss Cole, ma'am, please!" he appealed for clemency, his legs almost buckled as they shook against his weight.

"_Rockin', Rollin', Ridin', out along the bay. All bound for Morningtown, many miles a-way. _Come on, Pres, sing with me, I'm dying here. _Driver at the engine, Fireman rings the bell… _Your turn, Presley, surely you remember this one? Sandman swings…" she encouraged, rolling the gun expectantly near his ear.

"_S-sandman sw-swings the, the lantern to say that all is well…" _He could not steady his voice, the cool barrel twisting a little under his chin.

"Altogether now. _Rockin', Rollin', Ridin', out along the bay. All bound for Morningtown, many miles a-way…"_

Lucy stepped away as she sang and Preston never had time to turn his head to follow the click of her heels as the bullet tore through his threadbare scalp. His last thought, before the explosion of brain tissue, was the realisation that his bladder was not as strong as he believed.

Lucy walked back to where Syde lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. She reached into her jacket pocket and retrieved the torn bag of jelly babies, emptying them over his body in disgust.

_Maybe it is raining where our train will ride. All the little trave'lers are warm and snug in-side…_

She studied the gaping hole in the man's head and looked at the warm revolver in her hand, weighing it in her grasp. "Maybe a little more to the left," she mused.

"Miss Cole, is everything alright?" Neil stood in the doorway clutching a box of alien parts retrieved from the archives, his breath hitching in his chest.

Lucy pressed a device on her key ring and the music stopped. "Ah, Neil, it is now. Can you arrange for someone to clear up this mess?" She gestured to Syde with a flick of the weapon.

Down looked at the body. "Yes, ma'am, of course," he replied with indifference.

"Is that for me?" Lucy placed Jack's gun down on his desk as Neil handed her the box. She delved around it for a moment before pausing. "And Mr Jones behaved himself?" She examined a cog the Welshman had stripped from a larger piece of equipment.

Neil crossed his arms. "He tried it on once, trying to distract us but I wasn't having any of it." He stepped over the body, avoiding the pool of blood creeping across the floor. "I've sent him back to the cells with the rest."

Lucy put the carton down and held the part up to the light as she walked around the desk. "Good," she whispered, grabbing an alien device, no bigger than a Sat Nav., from its surface.

She prised the metal covering from its back and swiftly fitted the component inside with a small 'click'. "Neil, I believe I requested a, a…" She looked at him. "Is there something in there that looks a bit like a snowflake?"

Down nodded, rooting through the box until he located the object Jones had placed in a saline solution. Lucy smiled. "Be careful, it's alive and sentient. Lives in the salt caves on a rock of a world called Owd."

He looked at the amusement dancing in her eyes as he unscrewed the top of the sterilised container, using a pair of plastic tongs to pluck 'it' from the liquid. "Here," he said, keeping the, what ever it was at arms length.

Miss Cole offered him the device. "Lay it over the gear I just fitted," she ordered.

Neil gently positioned the fragile piece of technology on top of the cog, watching as it quickly adhered to its surface and sparked a reaction from the dormant circuits within.

Lucy snapped the case back in place and turned the device round. "This, my dear Neil, is my version of a Nostrum Analyser." Her fingers flew restlessly over the few buttons at the front, scrolling through the alien script highlighted on the small screen. "Did you know time travel leaves you with a certain amount of background radiation and mutates your blood cells?" Down shook his head; he knew better than to ask any further questions.

Miss Cole smiled into the swirl of symbols that looked more like strings of microscopic bacteria than anything legible. "Would you be so kind as to give me your hand?" She looked at him. "So I can calibrate this." Down's eyes strayed to the body making a crimson mat on the floor.

Lucy laughed. "Don't you trust me, Neil?"

"Of course, Miss Cole," he answered hastily.

"Then give me your hand, palm up."

Neil did as commanded feeling a slight tingling sensation as she passed the apparatus over his hand. "Now this won't hurt a bit." She pressed it onto his skin.

Something pricked his flesh, drawing blood; Neil drew his hand away.

Lucy looked at the flash of symbols the device displayed. "Oh, Neil, looks like you've never been further than Brighton." She smiled at him and placed the appliance back on the desk, tapping it with a long, manicured finger. "This little beauty, here, will help me when I locate all his little…. Ah, getting a bit ahead of myself." She cast a glance at Syde. "I don't want to spoil the surprise."

Lucy seemed to deliberate something for a moment, her stare never leaving that of the dead man's. "Death is such a cold place when you're waiting," she whispered. "With only the faces of the past to greet you with their screams and torments, there is no rest there."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "It's the void, you know, it draws us ever closer, our path destined to cross for all time. I saw it once, stretched before me, foretold and yet not set in stone."

Lucy looked at Neil, her eyes pulling him to their dangerous parapet. "There are variables; after all, waves never break it the same place on the sand and what I saw was just a glimpse…" She looked away and Down was released from her web. "…And there are so many ways to destroy a soul."

She smiled and placed her hand in her suit coat, pulling out a lipstick. "I have to look my best, Neil, I'm going to see an old friend very shortly."

Down watched as she smeared the erogenous pout of her bottom lip his, eyes drawn to the crimson burst of colour. She glanced at him the wand perched upon her cupid's bow. "Mr Jones, Neil, I'm a little curious, what did you manage to dig upon him?"

Down shrugged. "Nothing much, only that his background file was sealed."

"Sealed, but you managed to unseal it?" She delicately applied the colour to the top half of her mouth.

Neil nodded unable to speak, transfixed by the sweep of red; Lucy smiled and handed him the wand, their fingers touching around the slim tube. "It's Chanel Allure, Passion," she informed him, not letting go of the black and gold casing.

Neil's eyes were unable to drift from the lace of their touch, his focus jumping from the stones set in her ring. "I had to bribe a few of the _right_ people to gain access to it, although it hardly seemed worth it."

She lent close to his ear. "How so?" Her breath stirred the fine hairs of his neck; Neil fought to gain composures of his words.

"It was only one sheet, no computer record, luckily it was held at UNIT or it would have been destroyed at Canary Wharf."

"Why UNIT?" she purred.

"They were first on the scene; Jones' parents were attacked and killed by a rogue Siltheen who had crashed on the planet. Jones himself was retconned and placed with a family known to UNIT."

Lucy pondered this information, her grasp slipping from the lipstick. "Why was it sealed?"

"It was UNIT policy back then for children under the age of ten." The lipstick was released into Neil's waiting palm. "Everything was in order, ma'am, I cross-referenced all the details."

"I expect nothing less, Neil." She walked away. "Funny how the boy ended up working for Torchwood though," she pondered. "Who signed off on the documentation with regards to _young_ Mr Jones?"

Down squeezed the wand in his hand. "Um, I, um…" he narrowed his eyes in thought, trying to picture the signature, trying to make out the scrawl of letters. "It was a UNIT officer."

"A Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, maybe?"

Neil shook his head. "No, no it was a medical man, a doctor. The writing was pretty illegible."

Lucy turned sharply around. "Really? I should like to see that documentation."

He nodded. "I'll…" Lucy's timepiece chimed, stopping the flow of their conversation.

She pulled the pocket watch and looked at the dial, smiling with a renewed vigour. "Any news on our other guest?" she asked, her attention still on the quiet tick of the seconds that vibrated against her skin.

Neil stared at polished antique, remembering the receipt he had taken from Jones; he sucked in his bottom lip in anticipation. "Team Omega will be arriving in ten minutes," he informed her, his eyes following the design engraved on the solid case.

Lucy shut the watch and moved toward the door. "Then its time to begin," she told him, walking out to the Hub. "Are you coming?" She stood and waited.

Neil diverted his stare from the glint of the fob chain and followed her through the entrance, slipping the lipstick into his pocket.

-----------------------------------------------


	9. I Walk Alone

**I Walk Alone – 9**

Ianto sat down in the cell while Owen examined his wrist. "I'm fine," he reiterated as the doctor gently turned over the bruised limb.

"Got your medical degree while you were down in the archives, did you?" Owen scoffed as he prodded the area; Ianto hissed and pulled his arm away.

"Where did you get yours?" He shot Owen a pained look.

"Sadist 'R' Us. Now let me look at it!" Ianto held out his arm for inspection; the doctor batted it down a little so he could carry on with his probing.

The Welshman looked to Gwen. "Tosh not back?"

She shook her head and sucked in her lip; Owen avoided eye contact, keeping his hands and mind busy.

Jack watched the doctor work, directing his question at the younger man. "What did they want?"

Ianto gave a small shrug while Owen tired to hold his wrist still. "The Four Broash containment cells…"

"Those triangular buggers that didn't work?" the doctor asked as he pressed down on the young man's wrist.

Ianto nodded as he tried to hold still. "What else?" Jack enquired.

"Just odds and ends, they had me cannibalising a few pieces of alien tech…"

"To build what?" Jack asked, his eyes narrowing, needing more to work with.

Ianto met his stare. "I don't know." It was almost a whisper but sharp enough to inform the captain that the young man had observed nothing of the Master's plan.

Jack nodded as Owen let Ianto's hand drop. "Nothing broken," the doctor informed them getting to his feet and stretching his legs. He looked back at the younger man. "Didn't bring any coffee back with you then?"

Ianto shook his head. "Sorry, was a bit pre-occupied saving your neck." The Welshman began to roll down his sleeves while Owen sat back against the wall, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Ianto went to stand but Jack stopped him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You should get some rest." His eyes conveyed a concern that was deeper than his initial statement while his finger toyed with the pull of stitches along the Welshman's shirt seam.

"I'm fine, it's only a bruise." He brushed Jack's hand away examining the rip for himself.

Jack sighed. "You didn't sleep much last night…"

"Neither did you," the young man responded quickly.

"Oh please," the doctor exclaimed, "spare us the grisly details of your sex life!"

"Jealous, Owen?" Gwen retorted, shifting along the bench to make way for Jack.

"Oh, yeah, 'cos I lust after the tea-boy." The doctor crossed his arms in a decisive gesture.

Ianto turned his head. "If, 'Oi, tea-boy, coffee, now!' is meant to be some kind of come on, you really need to work on your technique." Gwen let slip a giggle; Jack smiled.

They settle into relative silence broken only by Owen humming the odd indistinguishable tune.

Gwen turned her body toward the captain, crossing her legs. "So, this Master is somehow in Lucy Cole's body." Her question was rhetorical but Jack nodded anyhow.

"And he's a Time Lord, like the Doctor." Her fingers toyed with the slider on the zip of her long boots as she gathered her thoughts.

"No, no", Jack defended. "He's nothing like the Doctor, the Master is pure evil." The captain glanced at Ianto who looked down into the lace of fingers.

"And you've met him before, this Master, when you were a prisoner onboard the Valiant, in a year that didn't exist." Gwen met his gaze, her eyes trying to dig a little deeper.

"Oh for God's sake, Gwen, give it a rest, will you." Owen pushed his head back against the wall and blew out his cheeks.

"No, don't you think Ianto deserves to know what we're up against as well. I mean, this, this, _man_ nearly ended the human race and we can't even remember his name!"

"That's 'cos time was reset, weren't you paying attention." Owen sat up. "Look, it's simple, evil Time Lord takes over the world and screws with the timeline. Harkness, _the_ Doctor, and this Martha Jones bird, defeat him and everything resets – which, we have to be grateful for as it looks like, and I'm guessing here, team Torchwood bit the dust along with millions of others." His gaze shifted to the captain; Jack looked away.

"Did we die, Jack?" Gwen's question filled the room.

Harkness swallowed. "Not all of you," he whispered, his thoughts broken in bitter memories.

"Who was the lucky bugger…?" Owen began as Jack lent forward, resting his head in his hands.

"It doesn't matter," the captain cut in, wiping the lines from his forehead.

"Oh come on, Harkness, who was it? Gwen, Tosh…" the doctor probed, Jack shot him a pointed look; Owen smiled.

"Oh, right, the tea-boy survived." He rolled his eyes. "The world's practically ending and who out of our mixed bag of heroes survives, Ianto – archivist and general dogsbody extraordinaire, well that fucking figures. Save the tea-boy, save the world, eh?"

"Owen…" Jack cut him off his face betraying the mix of his emotions. Beside him, Ianto made fists from his hands, his nails imprinting the soft flesh of his palms.

The doctor shook his head and turned his thoughts to the light reflected on the perspex. He swallowed. "Well I hope I died bravely, what did I get again hung, drawn and quartered was it?" Gwen reached across, trying to silence Owen with a gentle squeeze.

Jack looked away, the memory too close in his mind, to raw to recount without tipping him into that painful abyss.

"You were caught because you wouldn't leave your patients without medical care." Ianto's focus remained on a patch of dried blood on the floor; alien blood, the type that stains. "The sick and the old, those too feeble to work, brought underground by friends and relatives." Both Owen and Gwen turned to the younger man.

"Ianto." Jack spared a fleeting glance to the surveillance camera, his hushed warning went unheeded.

"A disused pit in the Rhondda, deep underground, became a hospice of sorts." The young man continued, his mind making shapes from the aged blood. "There wasn't enough supplies, you see, most came there to die, away from the light, away from the steel of the Tocolafane, but you did what you could, Owen, you saved those you could, you never gave up trying."

He looked the doctor in the eye, his stare fracturing with emotion. "Do you really want me to tell you how you died, how long it took, how your execution was compulsory viewing and broadcast all over the world for those of us left to hear your screams echoing around half empty stadiums and public buildings?"

The young man shook his head. "He was calling us out, the Master, daring us to save you, provoking the feeble resistance into some sort of action…" He looked away for a moment, drawing in those unremitting barbs of guilt.

He turned back at Owen and the doctor glimpsed the ghosts of despair shadowing the depths of his soul. "It's hard to watch a good man die, even harder when he's a friend and know there is nothing you can do but pray the torment ends quickly."

"Ianto." Jack gently grabbed his shoulders turning the young man to his own gaze. "Enough."

The young man looked at him, his pain mirroring Jack's own buried anguish. "Some nights I still hear the screams." It was a broken sigh, spoken only to his captain.

"I know." Jack's eyes conveyed his sincerity. "But now is not the time or the place, okay?" Something passed between the two men; something shared but not yet expressed; Ianto nodded and sat back. The captain released him, sparing a glance back at the camera.

"Jack." Gwen's voice was barely audible and the captain closed his eyes to try and stop the ensuing question. "How come Ianto remembers?"

---------------------------------------------------

Lucy strode into the Hub, her smile one of triumph. "Ah, Miss Sato, I owe you a debt of thanks." She clasped her hands together and shook them in a gesture of gratitude.

Tosh stood her ground, turning in her heels to make eye contact with the other woman. "Then let me and my team go," she offered.

Lucy laughed and looked at Neil who gave a subdued snort of his own. "Oh, if only life were that simple." She spread out her hands and shrugged. "But it isn't."

She jumped to where the computer floor had been ripped up and began to sort through the mass of cables below. Tosh hovered, arms crossed about her. "You know you can't just toy around with that."

Lucy looked up and smiled. "My dear child, I was making rift manipulators while the human race was just beginning to walk upright. I gave one to my grandfather as a present, with a few minor adjustments; it killed him of course, just as I'd planned." She tipped her head to one side in thought. "And he called me 'stupid'!"

Tosh watched Cole grasp and discount a length of electrical wiring. "What are you planning to do?" she asked, stepping forward and peering down into the twist of technology.

"Tinker with time, world domination, pop out for some fish and chips, the usual stuff." Lucy's smile held a wild excitement. "But first on my 'to do' list…" she tugged at a length of wiring with a grunt "…is some good old fashion revenge. Ah-ha! Here it is, see?" She pulled at the stretch of cable and snapped a ring device over it; the band began to flicker ominously.

Lucy jumped up from the floor and rubbed the dirt from her palms. She turned her focus to the object swathed in the thick tarpaulin that the UNIT soldiers had carried in early. "Now, it's time for you to awaken my sweet child of time." She walked around the pallet, depositing the four containment cells at each corner and priming them with the laser screwdriver she removed from her inside jacket pocket.

"Neil, would you be so kind as to remove the covering?" She stepped back.

Down nodded, tentatively and began to lift the heavy sheeting with the help of several UNIT men, revealing a broad, crystallised structure, whose formation reminded Tosh of the substantial stretch of Elkhorn coral.

Lucy ushered the men away and crouched down near the top of its exploratory reach. She spoke to it like a mother would a small child. "They left you in the rubble without a second glance, thinking you worthless but they are just apes, ignorant to your needs. I am here now, to suckle you, to give you life and guide you through the stars…" her fingertips flex as if to touch the pattern of its glacial surface but she held back, her pads just grazing the air along its girth "… and the darkness of my revenge."

Lucy got to her feet and went to her handbag, pulling out a vial from an interior pocket. She went back to the coral like object. "I baptize you in blood, may you dwell in him and he in you." She unscrewed the top of the small glass bottle and tipped its contents onto the crystallised structure. Small beads of blood began to streak its innocent form, trickling like tears into its surface, permeating through its hard shell.

"What is that?" Tosh asked, her voice no more than a whisper, her eyes following the trails of crimson as they soak into the heart of the structure.

Lucy looked up, her gaze cruel and malicious. "It's a TARDIS," she answered. "Juvenile and undeveloped but evolved enough for my purpose. It was lost in the archives at Canary Wharf and after the battle sold to adorn a hotel foyer in Vegas, until Neil tracked it down for me."

She moved away and stood before Tosh. "I need it to help me control the rift and to track down an old friend of mine. Shame you won't be around for the reunion. Neil!"

Tosh wasn't sure if that was a command directed at her until Down stepped forward. "The Nostrum Analyser, if you please," Lucy continued, holding out her hand.

Neil gave her the device. "Miss Sato, your hand please, I need to see what residual imprint the rift has made on you." Lucy's eyebrow rose expectantly.

Tosh was hesitant; Lucy gave another quick nod to one of the guards who step forward and forced the Asian woman to comply as she ran the device over the upturned palm quickly analysing the cipher that reflected in her pale eyes. "Ah, done a bit of time travel yourself it seems, nineteen forty-one, hell of a year. You have a residual signature but not the one I'm looking for. Thank you, Miss Sato, for your cooperation."

Tosh looked down at her palm then back up to Lucy. "How?" Her forehead creased as she watched a tiny drop of blood push it way from under her skin.

Lucy tapped the device with a smile. "Now where's Helga?" She looked at the unassuming faces around the Hub. "Helga!"

A thin woman stepped forward with bold lips and a short skirt. "That's Ada, Miss Cole," the woman corrected with a nod of her head; the movement made the severe wedge of her hair fall forward as a uniform block.

Lucy pondered the information. "Ah yes," she replied with a swift click of her fingers, "of course, I knew there was a reason why I hired you. Miss Sato, may I introduce Dr Weisz, she's our Cryo expert - you and she are going to get better acquainted."

Ada smiled at Tosh through her thick lipstick which had already spread onto her uneven teeth. "Ever wonder what it's like to be frozen, Miss Sato?" Weisz spoke with a stilted accent.

Tosh took an involuntary step backward, away from the doctor's leering grin; the guard behind her grabbed her shoulders.

Weisz continued. "Like an ice-lolly or a packet of fish fingers." She giggled in mild amusement, her large, circular brown eyes holding a slightly unhinged look. "Think of me as your own Captain Bird's Eye."

Lucy stepped between the two women. "See, I just knew you'd get on. She turned to Tosh. "Is it me or is it cold in here? Brrrrr!" She gave a mock shiver; Dr Weisz laughed.

Tosh struggled against the soldier restraining her. "Why?" she asked.

"Because I can." Lucy's tone was dark and harsh and sent shivers through the Asian woman delicate frame.

The soldier pushed Tosh to follow Dr Weisz, silencing any retort with bruising squeeze of her shoulder. "Neil, any word on our special guest?" Lucy watched them leave the main Hub but her attention elsewhere.

Down checked his mobile; nothing. "I'll go and chase them up, ma'am."

Lucy turned, her stare cleaving through his body. "You do that and, Neil?"

Down stopped, caught fast in her gaze. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Pop out and get me some liquorish allsorts, I could do with something sweet." She licked the colour of her lips. "I seem to be right out of jelly babies."

Neil's hand pressed against his jacket pocket. "Yes, ma'am," he replied again speed dialling as he walked toward the cog door.

Lucy turned back to juvenile TARDIS and took the pocket watch from her suit. "Any minute now," she whispered as she sat down at the bastardised laptop she'd brought with her.

-------------------------

"Leave it Gwen." The captain had his back to the camera, his lips close to her ear.

"Jack, what's going on, there's more to this isn't there?" Gwen focus was on Ianto.

Harkness grabbed her arm pulling her even closer. "Not now!" The blue steel of his stare was watchful and guarded.

"Jack…"

"It's too dangerous." Jack's tone was weighted, making the young woman flinch.

Lucy watched the crystallised form of the TARDIS. Deep within its heart, suspended in the glass of its core, blood blossomed like a deep red rose, impregnating the fine filaments of its structure and giving it life. Just a fitful flicker at first so easily lost in the artificial lighting of the Hub and swamp by its many shadows; but it was there, developing past its embryonic state, seeking, searching, exploring and hungry for knowledge.

She stepped away and tapped the remains of the keyboard on her bastardised laptop with the allusion of a skilled concert pianist. "We will find him, we will bind him. We will stick him with glue, glue, glue. We will stickle him, every little bit of him. I will keep from you, you, you." She ran her fingertips over the screen displaying an image of the Earth.

A light began to emanate from within the coral like formation, spreading through its many facets and illuminating the Hub in its brilliance. Those near the young TARDIS, stopped working, watching in awe as its shape became pliant and malleable, stretching its contours to investigate the space it inhabited. A small tendril of pure energy reached out from the pallet, drawn to the gentle pulse of the ring device. It went to touch the flicker of its light but then stopped and drew back, turning itself around as if attracted to something else.

"No," Lucy whispered, her finger poised on the laser screwdriver.

A few particles broke away from the arm of light, dancing around the Hub like dust in a sunbeam before they disappeared into an air vent. "Now that's odd," Lucy mused, her focus remaining on snake of energy as she hit a button on the laptop; the swirl of light turned back to the cable. "Softly, softly catchy monkey," she whispered as it touched the ring device.

Sparks flew in a surge of power as both the rift and TARDIS connected, sending a juddering shock wave through the Hub. Excess static snapped around the link as the fledgling time machine consume the glut of energy until its need was abated. Lucy flicked a switch on the laser screwdriver and the containment cells threw a web of crippling black matter around the formation of light, moulding itself to its outline, enclosing its luminosity in a hard, dampening shell. The TARDIS tried to disengage itself but the link could not be severed.

It cried out in pain.

------------------------------------------------------------------

"What the..?" Owen cut off his sentence as the swarm golden particles transferred themselves through the perspex.

Gwen pulled at the captain's sleeve. "Jack?"

"Yeah, I'm seeing them." He stepped back a little as they entered the cell.

The cloud shifted as it move, the flush of its glow turning from a resplendent gold to a coppery amber as it caught and held the dim lighting. It stopped, suspended in midair, as if searching the upturned faces for something familiar; it was then Ianto stood, his gaze capturing the spellbinding spark of their gossamer shimmer.

The glitter of particles turned in a sea of sunlight and darted toward the young Welshman, the flare of their collective sweep dazzling those stood watching.

"Ianto." Jack's whisper fell like a daydream into the absorbing mist as it hovered before the younger man enticingly.

"What the hell is that?" Owen moved to Jack's shoulder without taking his eyes from tawny haze of light.

"I have no idea." But somewhere, deep in the captain's subconscious, he thought he recognized the soft notes of its glow.

"Shouldn't we..?" Gwen's voice stole him from his thoughts; Jack found himself shaking his head.

Ianto stretched out his hand and the particles settled upon the skin turning it to a peaceful amber. The young man caught Jack's stare as he tore his own away from the flush of his flesh. "It's sentient," he said, feeling its warmth enveloped him.

"Okay, tea boy, put the thinky, glowy stuff down, Torchwood doesn't need another pet." Owen began to creep forward.

Still Ianto held the captain's gaze. "It's like, _her_," he whispered, his eyes shutting closed as his arm curled around his stomach. The heel of his hand immediately went to his temple as his legs buckled. "It's in pain," he almost screamed as he fell to the floor.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Neil opened the door to the Tourist office ushering the UNIT officers and their prisoner through the threshold. "It's about bloody time," he said gruffly, "we were expecting you ten minutes ago."

"Traffic," one of the soldiers offered with a disrespectful shrug.

"Take her down to see Miss Cole," Neil replied briskly, pressing the button which was hidden under the desk.

"You know this is kidnapping, don't you?" Martha Jones tugged herself away from the one guard holding tightly to her sleeve.

"Dr Jones, the government does not kidnap people; we are just procuring your services for a while."

"By force?" Martha cocked her eyebrow in Neil's direction; Down ignored her, instead he headed for the door.

"You not coming?" the UNIT solider asked, hauling Martha back into his tight grip.

Neil opened the door. "No, I've an errand to run for Miss Cole."

The two officers exchanged looks. "Well then, you'd better run along, hadn't you, errand-boy."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sarah Jane Smith plugged her laptop into the access point and turned it on, waiting a few seconds before tapping out her password. She moved away from the desk and went to the window, deciding to watch the steady stream of trains leave Cardiff Central.

Waiting came hard for her and she really had not grown patient with age, she still found it hard to be inactive. A fanfare heralded the laptop's readiness and she walked back to check for e-mails; there were none. She sat back down and picked up the room service menu.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	10. I Walk Alone 2

**I Walk Alone - 10**

Owen turned an unconscious Ianto over, checking his pulse and lifting an eyelid. "He's out cold. What the bloody hell's going on, Harkness?" He didn't even look up from his patient; Jack shook his head and turned away, running his fingers through his hair.

"Jack, please don't hold out on us." Gwen hadn't moved, her gaze trying to wrest an answer from her captain.

Owen stood. "No more secrets, Harkness. Don't you think there's been enough?" He stooped close to Jack so his words would not be audible to anyone else but the sentiment ruffled in the small space.

"We're a team, Jack." Gwen's words cut between the two.

The captain looked at them both. "It's not my secret."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

_It's not my secret. _The words seem weightless as Ianto drifted somewhere in between the seconds.

_Jack._ The young man's mind reached out but the captain seemed inaccessible in his awareness.

"He is a shadow stretched over time." A young woman, no older than himself approached through the many temporal layers. "Not fleeting like the others." She motioned to both Gwen and Owen with a sweep of her glistening arm.

Ianto found himself drawn to her. Her body flickering like a candle driving back the night; her eyes, magical orbs full of starlight, enticing him, guiding him toward the tender glow of her being.

She touched his face. "You are him, and us, and them, all things drifting, belonging nowhere and yet, to all things."

He grabbed the light of her hand and moved it to his head. "I feel you," he whispered without speaking, "here and…" he moved it to his heart "… here."

"We are linked by his blood and all that has gone before." She placed the shimmer of her forehead next to his, clasping his head in her hands.

"You are a TARDIS." Her presence galvanised his soul with knowledge.

"I am that which is within you and that which gave us both life." She pushed away, her shape becoming suddenly mottled and dim in a wave of shadows. "We are in pain, we grow too fast, I am moribund." She covered her face with her hands, turning away from the young man, her light fading.

Ianto moved into her aura, his fingertips brushing the fire of her hair. She turned and grabbed his wrist, healing its injury. "Come no closer for we are linked and a darkness surrounds me that will do you harm."

Her eyes yielded an amber glow that bore the universe in its gaze. "My nature is to protect that which is named for me, yet I fear my death will be used to hurt that which brought me to life."

"Then let me help you."

The TARDIS shook her head. "I am beyond help."

"No, there must be a way." Ianto reached for her arm, his grip catching the moonbeam of her presence, going beyond the shimmer of her outline to touch the universe and the bloom of its many secrets. His mind tore like a bullet through its fabric, targeting the latent knowledge of the Time Lords written into the cloth of every TARDIS.

He pulled her close, embracing her iridescent form and kissing her lips. She tried to pull back but the young man was persistent, deepening his kiss until she reciprocated and he felt her enter his body, binding them together in an eternal promise as old as the first explosion of stars. Ianto fell away, his heart racing beyond the confines of his chest.

She placed her hand upon his upper body, feeling the synchronisation of their being. "We are forever joined," she said sadly, "our strengths, our weakness are as one."

"I will save you," Ianto whispered softly into the glow of her ear.

She shook her head. "You are so young in time's framework it may not be within your power; you are only part Time Lord…"

He placed a finger on her lips. "As my father before me," he replied, owning the divide between them, "I also have the advantage of being part TARDIS."

Her eyes lifted to his and he basked in a fleeting smile until the pain overpowered them both and she withered into the waiting darkness.

Ianto awoke, startling Owen who was bent over his limp form. "Fuck! Take it easy; let me help you sit up."

"Owen…" Ianto began, trying to move away from the administrations of the other man.

The medic pulled him back. "For Christ's sake, let me do the doctoring, it's what I'm paid for…"

"Owen," Ianto tried again, shrinking back from the tender probing.

"Ianto…" Owen went to admonish the stricken man.

"O…" But the young man's warning was too late as he vomited all down Owen's front.

"Fuck."

-----------------------------------------------------

"Martha Jones, as I live and breathe!" Lucy strode toward the doctor, her hand held out in greeting. "So glad you could make it."

Martha ignored the offered hand and crossed her arms. "Not by choice."

Lucy continued to smile as she clapped her hands together. "Everyone, stop what you're doing, Hallmark moment here: it's Martha Jones." She spread her arms theatrically toward the young woman; blank looks were exchanged from the others in the Hub.

"You all remember Dr Martha Jones, don't you?" A few shook their heads. "Saviour of the Earth?" Lucy raised an eyebrow as she turned to her team.

"Anyone?"

Silence.

Lucy faced Martha again. "What, no one?" she continued, slapping a hand over her mouth in mock surprise.

A chorus of scattered 'no's' echoed around as everyone resumed working. Lucy smiled at the young doctor. "Wow, that must really suck."

"I did what I had to," Martha responded, glaring at the other woman.

"_I did what I had to_," Lucy parodied, picking a piece of lint off Martha's jacket.

"Why am I here and where's Jack and his team?" the doctor demanded, her expression remaining stoic.

"Oh, the freak? Don't you worry your pretty little head on his account, he's cooling his heels down in the cells, unchained I might add, although that might change later. And good, ole team Torchwood, well, sort of gonna put them on ice, cryogenically speaking, of course."

Martha kept eye contact as Lucy stepped into her personal space. "Who are you?" she asked, trying to look deeper into the other woman.

"Oh come on, Martha, has it been so long, don't tell me after all our cat and mouse games you don't recognise me?"

"Lucy Cole, once Mrs Harold Sax…" A finger pressed against her lips, silencing her answer.

"Oh, try again, surely you can see the real me beneath all this pomp."

It was the smile that did it for Martha, the smile and something that surfaced in the colour of the other woman's eyes. The doctor gasped. "I saw you die."

Lucy laughed. "Death is a sort of hazy thing for a Time Lord." She spun around. "So tell me, Martha Jones, is it me, do I not do feminine well?"

The doctor watched as the other woman ran her hands over her own body. "Where's the real Lucy Cole?"

"Oh, keeping me company in here." She tapped the side of her head; Martha grimaced. "'Till death us do part," Lucy added with a grin.

"I really don't think that's what she had in mind," the doctor answered.

"Oh, the humour, I think I've missed that most of all. The ministry is so full of stuffed shirts." Lucy looked to one of the accompanying guards. "Mobile?" she asked, holding out her hand.

He shook his head. "Nothing on her, ma'am."

Lucy looked back at Martha, raising an eyebrow; the young doctor smiled. "Dropped it last night, got crushed under the wheels of a fire engine, go figure."

Lucy narrowed her eyes. "Oh, how convenient. And they say the health service is safe in your hands."

"No, I think that was Margaret Thatcher, actually."

"Now there was a woman I could sink my teeth into." Lucy said with a wink. "Well, never mind, there are other ways to catch a Time Lord." She gestured to the juvenile TARDIS.

--------------------------------------------------------------

"Ianto…" Gwen crouched down, rubbing his back; the young man knew what was coming.

He cut into Gwen's hesitation. "You didn't tell them?" He looked up at Jack who was stood facing the perspex, his fingertip tracing the loop of a smear.

Jack didn't look round. "It wasn't my place." He kept his body between the team and the prying eye of the camera.

Ianto glanced at Owen who was trying to wipe himself down with one of Gwen's economy tissues. "They have a right to know," he said, more to himself than those in the room.

Jack turned around and pushed back onto the transparent wall, crossing his arms; he conceded defeat with a nod.

Ianto met Gwen's inquisitive gaze. He smiled softly and let his lips brush her cheek in an appearance of gratitude. "He's my father," he whispered, his breath warm against her skin, "the Doctor."

Gwen nodded slightly, her eyes speaking in volumes of unanswered questions, but she remained silent. Instead she stood and walked over to Owen, offering him another tissue. He discarded the useless one he was endeavouring to utilize as Gwen softly muttered in his ear, her words carrying no sound in the confined space.

------------------------------------------------

Neil made his way quickly down the narrow Victorian street of the Royal Arcade. People milled around him, mostly window shopping under the glazed roof, which the sun's rays milked giving the limited space an almost tropical feel. He pulled at his collar, swallowing back the dryness in his throat while berating himself for wearing his suit jacket. An old woman, tugging at a burdensome, tartan, shopping trolley, offered a sympathetic smile as she shuffled passed in a chunky knit cardigan and overly red cheeks.

Neil pulled the receipt from his pocket and unfolded it, checking the name printed on the paper. He looked up, searching the amalgam of traditional and modern shop fronts paralleled along the covered alley until he found the jewellers shining in the additional light. He wiped the sheen of perspiration from his forehead and quickened his pace to the door, shouldering past a young mother with a pushchair without an apology. The woman glared at him with dark eyes and then attended to her howling baby, bending over the handles to reveal a butterfly tattoo on the sunburn of her left breast.

Neil's slick hand tired the handle but the door was locked. He stepped back, noticing the handwritten sign stuck to glass: 'Back in 10 minutes'. Down checked his watch with a frustrated sigh.

"Can I help you, sir?" A silky voice cut through his annoyance.

Neil turned into the absorbing stare of an older man who was stood close by his shoulder. He stepped away but the man did not release him from his piercing gaze, extracting an answer. "I've come to collect a pocket watch," Neil replied, almost stumbling over his words before adding, "for a friend."

The old man's stare never wavered, holding Neil's reflection in the many shades of its mahogany web as he held out the receipt in his defence. "Yes, I remember the timepiece, a Mr Jones brought it in I believe." The jeweller's voice was subtle enough to add a breath of chill to the humid air making Neil shudder.

"Shall we?" the man said amicably, gesturing to the door as he smoothed down the silk of his cravat.

Neil watched the movement, drawn to the glint from the dark sapphire set in the pin that held the material together. "But it's locked." His assertion fell like the weep of rose petals on a gentle breeze.

"Is it?" the man replied with a sardonic smile as the door opened with a creak of hinges.

Neil frowned. "But I thought…"

Again the man humoured him with a grin, lips creeping across his pale cheeks like a cloud across the brightness of the sun. Around them time drew breath, pausing between syllables as something drained the colour from the day, stilling the arcade of its restless natives.

Neil looked to the doorway, his hesitation sticking like a stylus caught in pitted vinyl while around him fate's turntable spun on the moment, going nowhere.

"Such an unusual timepiece," the man tempted, his words like honey from salted lips, "exquisite craftsmanship too, I doubt I'll never see the like of it again." He turned the snake of his stare upon Neil once more. "I do hope such a young man as Mr Jones appreciates what a rare and exceptional piece he has."

Neil looked down to the weight of the receipt but found he was holding a pocket watch in his hand. "Between you and I," the man whispered, so close, Neil could feel the pall of breath upon his cheek; it held a hint of sulphur, "I believe it would suit a more mature gentleman."

The timepiece faded into the lined paper and Neil looked to the entrance. "Shall we?" the man offered again in an amusing tone, "after all time and tide…"

Neil nodded and found himself smiling dutifully as he stepped into the shop.

-----------------------------------------------

Lucy grinned at Martha never lifting her eyes from the young doctor as her fingers leisurely pressed at the keyboard. "Control. Alt. Delete. That should do it," she laughed as she pushed the final button, her stare glinting with an all consuming insanity.

Martha turned her head away, following the flame of light that shot from the coral-like TARDIS, through the Hub and up the water tower.

----------------------------------------------

The Doctor bent over the control panel fiddling idly with the black, Bakelite telephone attached amongst its many gadgets. He inserted his finger in the 'JKL' opening and spun the metal dial with considerable effort, watching the letters and numbers flick through the holes as he let go. He bit his lip; around him he felt the TARDIS's anxiety as she chiding him for letting Ianto stay on Earth. It was an empty rebuke, they both knew it, the boy was master of his own fate but her concern needed channelling and the Doctor had broad shoulders.

If he was honest, she was a constant worrier but this time it wasn't concern for a companion or for himself, it was different, it was deeper, after all Ianto was a product of them both.

Product: the word was analytical and cold; the Doctor ran his fingers though his hair, maybe, after all these years, he'd forgotten how to be a father.

_It wasn't easy the first time around_, the TARDIS echoed in his mind.

"No, no it wasn't, but I'm a different man now: much too self-absorbed, boarding on selfish really…"

She remained silent. The Doctor waited and then shook his head and turned his back to the console, leaning against it for support while he crossed his arms. Faces clouded his thoughts, the faces of all those who'd travelled the universe with him, each repeating his name with awe, fuelling the veneration he needed, the emotional support…

_Needy _Rose was right, scratch under the surface of his self-assured genius and there was a sad and lonely little man, drifting through eternity, trying to be noble, gallant and principled because he _needed _to feel indispensable in an ever shifting universe.

"_Doctor." _The faces faded as often as they changed but the look of devotion always remained and he needed that constant love and encouragement, that light, that support, although he'd never admit it.

_Ianto's different. _

Doctor nodded at her words, the boy had a way of cutting him to the raw bone, seeing beyond the pantomime of the Doctor to his closed and concealed soul. Oh, he had changed through the years, Ianto had remarked on it while a fish and chip supper cooled on their laps, how each regeneration always brought a different part of his personality to the forefront….

_But he will always be able to see past that exterior façade of the Doctor won't he?_

The Time Lord said nothing, turning instead to the console, tinkering with the inlay of switches and dials.

_That bothers you doesn't it?_

The Doctor shook his head. "No, why should it?" He continued adjusting the settings not looking from the control panel.

_Because you've forgotten how to be you. _

The Time Lord rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on now…"

_What then?_

"It doesn't matter."

_It obviously does_.

The Doctor looked into the column of light at the centre of the TARDIS; she knew the answer, she just wanted him to admit it to himself, to say the words out loud.

The Time Lord sighed. "I'm scared of being just me." He stopped fiddling and lent on his knuckles. "Satisfied?"

_Why? _

"Because it's not the Doctor." His voice fell to a reproachful whisper.

_And yet that's all Ianto wants from you_.

The Time Lord went to counter but a searing pain stripped his words. He fell forward, his body and mind stretching between two points as the second they were in expanded in its own time frame. The Doctor found himself torn in the precious moment between dematerialisation and re-emergence, a foot in each but existing in neither as the bubble grew around him. He gasped as his body tried to gain some awareness, his senses some grip in this swell of time, this non-existing instant between tick and tock. Everything seemed to duplicate in a slow shudder, the internal images ghosting over each other in psychedelic layers like a bad Seventies music video. The TARDIS tried to reset herself, to break away from the anomaly surrounding them but she was trapped in this cleft of time.

Before he passed out, the Doctor thought he saw the tears of another TARDIS glinting on the wield of time, and as they fell, Ianto was reflected in their glimmer.

--------------------------------------------------

Ianto felt himself droop under Owen's gaze as the doctor checked his carotid pulse. "You're an unearthly colour but maybe that's normal," the doctor added, pulling his fingers away from the younger man's neck with a grunt.

Ianto rubbed the spot as Owen looked at the vomit stain down his t-shirt, exacerbated by the ragged scraps of tissue worked into the material. "You should have blotted," Ianto offered helpfully, the timbre of his voice gravelly with strain.

Owen held his gaze, tensing a little, reigning in the twist of his emotion. "You lied to us, again," he said softly, testing the difficulties between them.

Ianto kept eye contact. "I know," he whispered with a lonely sincerity.

Owen watched him for a moment, trying to see past the rip in Ianto's emotional mask. "Did we ever know you?"

"Did you ever want to?" There was no resentment in the young man's response, just a note of sadness.

Owen snorted. "That's not what I asked, stop dodging the bleeding question." His patience was a fragile cloth.

"Yes," Ianto answered, "this is not the boy I was, this is who I became." He channelled his focus to a hollow in the floor.

Owen rolled his eyes. "Enough with the Freud crap, Ianto, _yes_ would have sufficed." He broke away from the younger man, looking again at his t-shirt. "Anything else I should know?" he asked, sniffing the mark and grimacing.

"You'll probably need to soak that shirt before you wash it, you might want to try a biological detergent that contains bleach."

"This? Oh mate,_ this_ is going in straight in the bin and then you're going to buy me another, a really expensive one - I'm thinking designer. Also, both, you and Barbarella over there, have a lot of explaining to do, so don't think _this_ is going away anytime soon, you're not out of the woods yet, tea-boy." Owen flashed the younger man a smile but Ianto wasn't listening.

The doctor watched as the colour ran from the Welshman's eyes until they were cold, hard, marble. "Ianto?" Owen gripped his shoulder.

"We're in pain," the young man's voice was not solely his own, its inflection was duel and pitted in anguish.

"Jack?" Owen looked to where the captain was watching the two men closely in reflection on the perspex; both he and Gwen turned from their contrived conversation, moderating their pace for the camera.

Jack knelt in front of Ianto but looked to Owen. "What happened?"

Owen shrugged not relaxing his hold on the stricken man. "He said he's in pain."

Jack returned to the chalk of the Ianto's stare. "Ianto," he whispered gently squeezing his knee.

"Jack?" Ianto turned his bleached gaze to the captain. "Old man, wrong man, young man, out of time, time keeper, stealer, killer, waster …" The singular voice of the TARDIS twisted around them.

"Jack?" Ianto's voice cut through her tirade of words.

"What is it?" He kept his hand on the younger man, reassuring him.

"The Master's using her, hurting her."

"Tosh?" asked Gwen worried.

"No, a TARDIS." Soft particles of light filled Ianto's gaze, like a strip stream of stars.

"The Doctor's time machine?" Owen offered, carefully moving his touch to Ianto's neck.

Jack looked impressed; Owen gave him a pointed look. "What? I _do_ read some of the reports and anyway, a time machine, must be pretty fucking awesome, right?"

"You have no idea," Jack answered as he turned back to Ianto. "The Master has the Doctor's TARDIS," he needed clarification.

The young man shook his head. "She's younger, not yet full grown…"

"She?" Gwen asked, casting her shadow over their group.

Ianto began to shiver violently. "We need to find that which gave us life." Again two voices spoke as one.

"His heart rate's erratic," Owen cautioned, feeling the wild pulse under his fingertips.

Jack held up his hand, silencing the medic's concern. "Do you mean the Doctor?"

"For fuck's sake, Harkness…" Owen warned, his glare frosty.

"We need to know what the Master's up to." Jack directed, his stare clashing with that of the medic's.

"At what cost, Jack?" Gwen asked.

The captain swallowed, pushing back the rage of his inner conflict, resigned to leadership. "Any," he replied, turning his attention back to Ianto. "Do you mean the Doctor?"

The young man fought for breath. "Yes." It was a laboured reply.

"The Master must have primed it with a biological imprint of the Doctor," Jack spoke more to himself than the others.

"You seem to know a lot about it," Owen observed with a certain amount of derision.

"Yeah," Jack replied cagily, giving nothing away but a soft smile.

Ianto's shivering became more severe. "Cold, so many stars burning, so much light lost in the darkness and the cold."

Jack sat down by the young man and tried to pull him from Owen but he was rigid and unyielding to the embrace. "What can you see, Ianto?" They turned to Gwen who crouched down and took the young man's hands in her own, rubbing them gently.

Ianto inclined his head slightly, experiencing the duality of sight the TARDIS offered; he was still in the cell, yet, he could see the colours of an expanding second.

"See?" Ianto looked to Gwen but he wasn't her he was focused on. "Him. We see him."

"Who, love?" Gwen coaxed.

"We see the Time Lord, the Doctor."

"Where?" Jack asked, not masking the alarm in his voice. Owen shot him a scolding look.

"Trapped in our pain," came the twin voices as the TARDIS severed its link.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Neil held the small wooden box in his hand with great delight and a touch of reverence; it was a lot older than he had anticipated. He ran the pad of his thumb over the clean-cut design of the Marquetry flower inlayed upon the lid. His hand trembled slightly as his body coursed with excitement, impatient to open the box, to view its contents, to own the watch he so desired, but he knew he must curtail his enthusiasm in front of the jeweller. He stared at the brass plaque, letting the script of engraved letters form discouraging whispers in his mind. "T. Latimer, are you sure this is the right pocket watch?" His anxious voice cut against the resonate sound of the many clocks hung on the walls as he placed the box down the glass counter.

The man smiled that disturbing grin of his, while his eyes displayed a reptilian charm. "Oh, yes, sir," he remarked, "it threw us for a moment too, until, that is, we found the note." He pushed the watch toward Neil.

"Note?" Neil looked up; the man seized eye contact, pulling the soul from his body.

The jeweller's knotted finger reached across the counter and tapped the lid. "Yes, inside, very mysterious." The man's smile twitched a little. "I'm afraid my curiosity got the better of me - I sure your Mr Jones will fill you in on the fascinating details." Neil watched as the man's long fingernail scraped across the wood; for some reason his mind made mischief with the sound, casting shadowy images of a pauper's coffin and the buried undead twisting in their shrouds below newly dug sod.

Neil swallowed; trying to appear composed as he reached inside his breast pocket. "How much do I owe you?" he asked hurriedly.

The jeweller laughed, it was a glacial noise. "Tell Mr Jones it's on the house, so to say. The pleasure of working on such a fine piece was reward enough." The declaration was delivered with the proficiency of a trained thespian while the man's eyes held something deeply inauspicious.

Neil's hand hovered over the box while he fumbled for control against the jeweller's unsettling stare. "No payment?"

The man leant across the counter top; the assortment of clocks stopped their tally of the seconds and fell silent. "I am not a vindictive man, Mr Down, but those I work for are not so forgiving." The words were spoken in the gasp of time and vanished as it exhaled, as if they had never been expressed at all.

Billis Manger guided Neil's hand upon the box. "Why don't you open it up, sir? I'm sure you won't be disappointed."

------------------------------------------------

"He's disrupted time to capture the Doctor in its void." Ianto's voice was a quiet mummer in the grim cell. He breathed out, letting his heart attune to its own rhythm.

"Is that even possible?" Owen asked, his trainers tapping impatiently on the floor as he sat back, stretching out the kinks in his spine.

"A warp in time? Oh yeah, believe me, it is." Jack gave a wistful smile, ducking the look Ianto gave him by turning to Gwen.

"So, what does this Master want with the Doctor?" she asked, feeling the conspicuous eye of the camera on their little troop. She turned slightly, to block its view.

"Revenge?" Jack shrugged. "I bet he's pretty pissed the Doctor foiled his world domination plan…"

"Again," Ianto added wearily, trying to rub away the pounding in his head; the nausea was back but he suppressed the gag of bile.

"Again?" Owen asked, scuffing his toes into the floor.

"It wasn't the first time they'd locked horns," Ianto replied, sinking back against the wall. "In fact, they've been at it for years." He clasped his hands together, rolling his thumbs in thought as he stared into the perspex.

"Why?" Gwen asked looking between both Jack and Ianto; neither could give a decisive answer.

Owen sighed with annoyance. "Oh come on, Doctor good, Master evil, there doesn't always have to be some inherent cause, PC Cooper."

Gwen ignored Owen's jibe. "So what do we do, Jack?"

The captain drew a long breath trying to scavenge some other course of action than the one forming in his mind.

"We need to do something, Harkness." Owen's nettle pushed at Jack's tolerance. "I don't know if it's escaped your attention, but Tosh isn't back yet and I'm really sick and tired of this waiting crap." He picked at the loose rubber on the front of his trainer, rolling it, before flicking it across the chamber.

Jack placed his foot on the slab bench and pulled at the unfastened laces of his left boot. "We need to contact the Doctor," he whispered.

Gwen narrowed her eyes. "How is that even possible?" Her voice was louder than she had intended.

Jack looked at Ianto before answering, weighing the other man's silence. "Ianto's linked to this TARDIS the Master's brought with him and it's linked to the Doctor, it's like an open line…" He turned his attention back to tightening the lengths of acrylic.

"Except," Owen interjected, crossing his arms, "Ianto's not well enough to come to the phone right now…"

"I'll be fine, Owen." Ianto's gaze bypassed the doctor and rested on Jack; the captain nodded.

"Oh yeah, 'cos you look a picture of health at the moment, tea-boy."

"He'll be fine, Owen," Jack reassured.

"That's Dr Harper, unless you've forgotten, and if you want my medical opinion…"

"No!" Both men answered in unison, not breaking eye contact with each other.

"Fine, knock yourself out." Owen's accusing stare penetrated Jack, letting him know exactly who would shoulder the blame. He stood, yanking his trousers up before shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Jack, there has to be another option." Gwen's hand reached for his arm. "Look at him; does he look well enough to do what you're asking?"

Ianto blinked before Jack spoke. "The Doctor's our only chance at defeating the Master and, at the moment, unless you can come up with something else, Ianto's our only advantage." He spoke slowly, meeting Gwen's gaze halfway as he turned from the younger man.

She let her hold slip from his arm. "For how long, Jack? What if by doing this it exposes him to detection by the Master, you said he wants revenge…"

Jack closed his eyes for a moment swallowing against the spasm of his heartbeat. "Then we'll do all in our power to make sure that doesn't happen." He threw a glance at the camera.

"You do know I'm still sat here?" Ianto voice was but a flutter but its tone held substance.

Gwen turned her attention to Ianto, giving him a small smile. "Ianto, love, I meant no disrespect but at the moment you might not be capable …"

Ianto stood, endeavouring to keep on his feet. "Do any of you really know what I'm capable of?" His question was directed at all of them; silence flooded back, whispering on the shore of their uncertainty.

Gwen reached across to touched his shoulder. "No, we don't, but look at yourself, you can hardly stand." She kept her voice even and calm.

He held her gaze, curbing the thorny knot of his emotions. "I lived a year in hell, Gwen, and eluded this man who tired to take away everything that made us human. He stole the life from us and moulded it into a living nightmare and he'll do the same again unless we find away to stop him."

Ianto gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "I know the risks, I've lived with them all my life." He glanced across at Owen. "I'm tired of hiding."

Owen gave a deliberate nod.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Neil found himself in the arcade, behind him the jeweller's door settled back in place as if it had shifted in a forgotten moment. People walked past catching themselves up in a blur of trailing colours as the seconds reset in a blink of an eye and time continued at its own pace.

Neil stood still, a disorientated point, fixed in the centre of a shrinking breach, unaware of the adjustments falling back into place around him. He exhaled a puff of air, anchoring himself into the present, existing once more in its mix of sunshine and shadows. He looked down at the gift bestowed on him, for even as reality bit into the haze of his mind he knew it was much more than a watch.

He looked back over his shoulder at the locked shop, trying to focus on the dregs of his memory that were withering in blaze of light.

He blinked and they were gone. All that remained was the watch and the revelation it would bring.

Neil looked at the box and smiled as he walked out into the sunlight, fumbling for his mobile. He hit speed dial and despite himself he began to whistle.


	11. My Shadow's The Only One That Walks Besi

**My Shadow's The Only One That Walks Beside Me - 11  
**

Two guards entered the containment area wheeling a large flat screen TV. "Miss Cole's sent down some entertainment for you," one of the men scoffed as he began to unravel an extension lead.

Owen stood, challenging both through the transparent wall. "Any chance of some beers, then?"

The other guard snorted, lifting up four bottles of water as he moved closer to the perspex. "Sorry, we don't want you to dehydrate, now, do we? Especially as you'll be joining your little Asian friend very soon." He matched Owen's vexed stare. "Stand aside."

Owen refused, pressing his palms against the cell wall, his fingers curling around the holes. "What the fuck have you done with Tosh?" His rage sprayed the clear plastic, his body rigid and threatening. Jack jumped up, resting a hand on his shoulder.

The guard smirked, showing a forty-a-day habit against his furrowed skin. "Miss Cole has her on ice." He stepped closer, his breath clouding the acrylic glass against Owen's face. "Had to strip her down to her bra and knickers." He licked his thin lips. "Nice tits, eh Chas?" He raised his eyebrows, challenging the taut coil of Owen's temper.

The other guard stood away from a plug socket, smiling under his moustache while cupping his hands in front of his chest. "Oh yeah."

Owen turned away and then hurled himself at the partition with a guttural roar. Jack yanked him back as Gwen put herself between them and the guard. "You sick fucks," she yelled, her eyes ablaze with anger.

The guard showed his stained teeth in a semblance of a lewd smile. "Oh, I do like a girl with plenty of spunk, preferable mine, inside her mouth. What about it, darling, got a matching set on too?"

"Bet it's a thong," Chas fantasized, moving close to his colleague. "I do like a nice pert arse." He traced Gwen's outline with the butt of his rife. "Now, stand back." He took the safety off his weapon, his eyes holding a look of ruthlessness in the bronze of their hue.

Owen made a move toward the door, but Jack held him back. "Not now," he whispered. "Later, okay?"

Owen gave a short nod, his eyes glaring in a promise of retribution. He tore himself away from Jack's hold, his fist connecting with the brickwork as the cell door opened.

Chas cast a glance in Ianto's direction. "What's up with him?"

"Headache," Gwen answered, stepping closer to the Welshman.

The other guard laughed as the tossed the bottles onto the floor. "Gonna get a lot worse," he smirked, "for all of you."

The door closed and Chas turned the television on. "Enjoy the show," he said as Lucy Saxon watched them from its screen.

"This is Cardiff calling, can you hear me down there?" She turned to a monitor that showed the cells. "Ah, I see you can. Oh come on, Team Torchwood, let's have some smiles, shall we?"

"Sorry not in the mood," Owen growled at the camera while sucking the blood from his knuckles.

Lucy sighed. "Always a bit of a damp squid, eh, Dr Harper? Well, don't go spoiling it for the others, there's a good chap, or I might have penalize you later." She smiled as she walked leisurely over to the centre of the Hub.

"What, by freezing me?" Owen spat back.

Lucy shook her head, wagging a disapproving finger. "You know, Dr Harper, things become a little brittle when they're frozen and between you and me, my men are a little on the ham-fisted side - I would hate for you to lose an appendage when they store you." She picked up a pencil and snapped it in half.

"Owen," Jack warned, sitting the other man down on the stone bench; the medic shook his head and handed Ianto a bottle of water.

Lucy clapped her hands together. "Now, that's better."

A doorbell sounded, Lucy put her hands to her face in surprise, looking around the Hub with a startled expression. "There's somebody at the door, there's somebody at the door…" She went out of shot while others carried on with the chant.

Moments later she reappeared with a look of elation plastered on her face. "Wow, have I got a surprise for you – well, not all of you." Lucy cleared her throat. "Tonight, Captain Jack, you thought she was working a double shift healing the pathetically weak, but no, she's here: it's Doctor Martha Jones!"

A round of lacklustre applause came from the mix of technicians and soldiers along with some lifeless cheers. "I bet she's using cue cards," Ianto said dryly as Martha was pushed into view. Jack spared him a quick look as he bent down to pick up one of the water bottles.

Lucy draped an arm over the young woman's shoulder. "Give them a wave, Martha. Of course the freak's the only one who will remember you." She stepped forward, dragging Martha with her to tap the monitor.

"Eh-oh, Jack," Lucy parodied, lifting one of Martha's hands to make her wave. "Oh, he's a bit glum, isn't he? Well maybe our next guest'll cheer him up."

Lucy hauled Martha by her sleeve to the workstations, the camera jogging as it followed them. She then turned, speaking directly into the lens. "You know, I like what you've done with the place, freak, I really do, it sort of has _Torchwood_ written all over it, but I think it needs a focal point, a command chair of some sort, you know, a big, black, leather one with some operational buttons on the arms and swivel action, it must have swivel action."

Jack shrugged. "Never needed any gadgets myself, I guess I've just got that commanding personality…"

"Or fifty-first century pheromones," Ianto muttered under his breath.

"…unlike you," Jack finished, casting a quick glance at Ianto before challenging the eye of the camera.

Lucy gave him a thorny frown. "Trying to bait me, eh Captain? Well a word of warning, tread very carefully, I can cause you a lot of pain."

"Sort of been there, done that, already," Jack replied, crossing his arms.

"Ah, but we have some new players in our pain game, don't we?" Lucy pulled Martha nearer and licked her cheek.

"You know, I'm getting a bit sick of being dragged from pillar to post here," Martha said, wiping off the other woman's drool from her skin with her sleeve.

Lucy laughed. "Get use to it, Dr Jones, you're an insignificant pawn on a very big chess board." She turned to the camcorder. "And tell me, Mr Jones, do you like to play?"

Ianto looked up from the rim of his bottle. "Chess?" he asked with a tilt of his head.

"To start with," Lucy answered, "and then we could move onto more adventurous games, maybe a few of the ones the good captain and myself have experimented with." She lowered her voice. "He was never very good, you know, all smiles and good looks don't necessarily make a good opponent."

Ianto crossed his legs, looking directly into the lens. "You may have to up your game a bit."

Lucy clapped her hands and laughed. "Oh, Mr Jones, I'll look forward to it." She looked away. "Now onto the main event!"

Jack grabbed Ianto's shoulder. "What the hell do you think you're playing at?"

Ianto gave him a soft smile. "Chess," he answered, the one word peppered with all the complexities of the game as he directed his focus back at the screen.

Lucy pushed Martha into a chair, resting her hands on the other woman's shoulders. "Mr Witherspoon, if you please, _on screen_." She spread her arms theatrically and looked back at the lens with a wink. "I've always wanted to say that."

A holographic image appeared showing the dotted lights of the cosmos. "_When we gaze deep into the inky black of space, who knows what strange and beautiful things we might find_." Lucy's grip tightened on Martha.

The pictured journeyed, twisting around and through the gas spheres of stars that daubed the crushed velvet sky in an assortment of greens, blues, yellows, oranges and reds. The universe opened up before them, spilling across the Hub, intersperse with planets, moons and the breathtaking formations of gossamer nebulas.

In the cells, Ianto's eyes betrayed the dance of stars, his soul travelling hand in hand with the TARDIS, basking in the reach of the universe.

"Ianto?" Gwen's voice rippled like a breeze on the ocean, creasing the tempered metal of its glass without breaking the surface. He reached through the folds of his migration and touched her hand. "Are you safe?" she asked, embracing his fingers in her own; Ianto nodded, keeping the warmth of her contact.

"Oooh, what's that, there?" Lucy moved away from Martha and touched a scar in the holographic image. "We seem to be heading straight for it."

The rip was darker than the cloth of space surrounding it, a starless anomaly gouged in time and devoid of light.

Ianto inhaled, an acidic bile rising to his mouth, his mind grating in its skull as the young TARDIS parted the lesion in space and took them inside its engulfing pitch.

A blue police box hung in a web of black matter, slipping against its binds as it tried to break free. "It's amazing where you can find these things, isn't it?" Lucy mocked.

"Look at it; a nostalgic throwback just like its owner, hankering to a forgotten era, they so deserve each other." She walked around the 3D display. "Mr Jones, care to play a little game?"

Lucy directed her gaze at the monitor; Ianto blinked, turning his focus away from the stars and back to planet Earth. He squeezed Gwen's hand as he tried to control the stab of breathing. "Do I have a choice?" he asked.

Lucy smirked. "Of course not."

Ianto smiled. "Then I accept."

"Good, let's play for one of Miss Cooper's fingers shall we, just for starters."

"Hey," Gwen rose, crossing her arms protectively.

Lucy ignored her outburst. "Tell me, Mr Jones, what did the interiors of police boxes often contain?" She pretended to pull off her index finger.

Ianto focus remained on the camera. "A stool, a desk, brushes and dusters, a fire extinguisher and bracket, a coat hook, a first aid kit, a police incident and log book and a small (and very often inadequate) electric fire."

"Fuck me," Owen whispered; Ianto arched an eyebrow in his direction.

Lucy folded her arms, mentally cataloguing his list, her lips moving slightly before smiling. "Well done." She clapped her hands. "Looks like Miss Cooper will keep all her fingers…" she paused "… today. Although I'm amazed you didn't get it wrong on purpose, after all, isn't Miss Cooper a rival in your affections for Captain Underpants there?"

She moved closer to the lens, speaking directly to Jack. "What was dearest Gwen's dying declaration?"

"Oh yes." Lucy clasped her hands in front of her, batting her lashes. _"I stand before you, guilty of just one thing and that is loving two men: one with my heart and one with my soul_."

She edged nearer, her face filling the screen. "Which were you, freak, heart or soul?" Her tone was biting.

Jack glanced at Gwen who met his stare full on; he smiled. "Who says she was talking about me?"

Lucy moved away. "Ah, so maybe those lessons in diplomacy paid off. I would hate to think I wasted all that energy for nothing." She placed her hand into the holographic image and brushed the TARDIS. "Anyway, I digress, shall we see what's inside this box."

Lucy looked toward Martha. "Is there a Doctor in the house?" She pulled out her laser screwdriver and pressed the button.

Sparks flew around the grainy image and the interior of the TARDIS swamped the Hub, turning almost solid to the touch. The Doctor stood, from where he was working under the console making a life sized impression in Torchwood's core. He faced Lucy, wiping his hands on an oil soaked cloth before repositioning his glasses. "Ah, I was wondering when you'd drop in. Had some time to fix the stabilizers, she was veering a little to the right."

He moved his body to emphasis the point before placing the rag down, his eyes travelling to his former companion. "Martha Jones, don't tell me you've joined Torchwood!" But his dark brown stare held another question.

Martha kept eye contact, shaking her head slightly in reassurance. "Not intentionally." She threw a sideways glance at Lucy who was watching the exchange with a poisonous smile.

"Ah," the Doctor replied, turning to the other woman.

"Surprise!" Lucy exclaimed, throwing her hands to the side.

"Not really," the Doctor countered, "been chasing your shadow for weeks." He showed no emotion, but his eyes reflected a little stone from his soul.

Lucy laughed, it was thin and cold. "Quite so, dear Doctor, a girl must have some fun." She examined her nails. "Are you alone?" Her eyebrow arched with the question.

"Would you believe me if I said 'yes'?" The Time Lord gestured to the TARDIS.

Lucy aimed her screwdriver at the image and stepped back to her laptop. She watched the Doctor for a moment, gauging his reaction. "Not that I don't trust you of course." She smiled. "Oh wait, I don't trust you at all - you see, I've been picking up some strange ghosting…" She tapped a few keys and looked down on the screen.

The Doctor shrugged. "Duplicate images, a flux in transmissions I mean, come on, you're using twenty-first century Earth technology, there's bound to be some glitches."

The laptop sounded a fanfare which lost its impetus halfway through and ended in a flat and tuneless note; Lucy glanced at the Doctor. "I've allowed for that." She gave a churlish smile, her focus on the screen.

"Really? I bet you've fried the circuits more than once." The Doctor gestured to the laptop.

Lucy ignored the comment. "You seemed to be telling the truth, although…" she arched an eyebrow at the Doctor "…_she _seems to be overly anxious." As if on cue the TARDIS gave a ragged drone.

"She remembers what you did to her last time," the Doctor countered hastily, "can't blame her for being a little worried." He dug his hands into his pockets, crossing his fingers. "Now, any chance of a cup of tea or coffee? I hear they make an exceptional coffee here at Torchwood, would really like to sample a cup, Jack couldn't stop bragging about it. Where is Jack by the way? I'd like to…"

"All in good time, Doctor." Lucy stepped nearer, her narrowing gaze glancing off the central column, suspiciously. "But for now, you're staying put. Think of yourself as a long distance spectator in unfolding events. I really do hope you get to enjoy the little show I have planned for you, it's a real humdinger."

She turned on her heels and stood once more behind Martha. "Although, what sort of host would I be if I didn't offer my guests a cup of coffee, especially when I'm in a mind to gloat. Mr Moore." Lucy turned to the soldier who had wheeled the screen to the cells. "Would you bring Mr Jones up to make one of his legendary cups of coffee for Miss Jones and myself …"

"You know, you don't have to bother…" Martha began, her stare straying fearfully to the Doctor.

"Oh, it's no bother and really, I insisted." Lucy lent closer over the back of the chair, her breath skimming the other woman's ear. "I might decide not to freeze the boy if his coffee is as renowned as they say, after all, I have a few vacancies for household staff and I'm rather partial to the name of _Jones_."

She massaged Martha's shoulders in a circular motion. "I hear your brother and sister are struggling to find employment." The former companion stiffened. "And it's so hard to find good help nowadays; perhaps I should give them a ring?"

"Leave my family out of this, they've suffered enough!" Martha went to stand but was shoved back into the seat.

Lucy crouched down to Martha's eyelevel, her long fingers caressing the other woman's cheek. "Tell me: am I still in your nightmares?" The Master's heartless gaze raked through Martha's subconscious.

She challenged its overpowering coil. "Am I still in yours?"

Lucy's smile spasmed into a sneer. "I could kill you now, here, right in front of him." She fondled a tress of the other woman's hair.

Martha's kept eye contact. "Yes, you could, but I'm sure that's not in your plan."

Lucy wrapped the strand around her finger, tugging it hard. "If I were you, Martha Jones, I'd be careful how I talk back to my betters, it might make me angry, you wouldn't like me when I'm angry and I'm sure neither would your family."

"Martha?" The Doctor's voice cut through their exchanged; Lucy stood unwrapping herself from the tangle of hair with a vicious yank.

She stooped and kissed the top of Martha's head. "Just a little girly one to one, Doctor, I have a feeling, in time, we could become BFF." Lucy placed a hand on her heart as Ianto was escorted into the Hub.

She watched the young man move awkwardly next to the guard. "Ah, Mr Jones, glad you could join our little soirée." She tilted her head. "And, if you'd pardon my French, you look like shit?"

The Doctor followed Ianto's gait, his eyes trying to determine the cause of his obvious frailty. "A headache, ma'am," the young man answered impassively.

"Well you're in luck; we have a plethora of doctors in the Hub. Here, let me introduced you to…" she moved away from Martha and steered Ianto toward the image of the other Time Lord, "… the Doctor. I don't believe you've met, unless you ran into each other at Canary Wharf?"

Ianto shared eye contact with his father. "No ma'am, I have not had the pleasure." He nodded his head, a gesture which the Doctor returned, both men remaining silent as the seconds stretched.

"Oh, believe me, Mr Jones, it's no pleasure," Lucy responded, striding over to Martha and twirling her round in the chair. "And this lovely lady is Martha Jones, my new best friend."

"That's Dr Martha Jones," the former companion corrected.

"Oops, sorry, my bad." Lucy took a step back, her focus weighing their interaction.

Ianto gave another curt nod. "Miss Jones." Martha offered him a cautious smile, betraying nothing but Lucy sensed something. It irked her, pulled at her peripheral vision, a glimmer, a ghost, a taste of…

Lucy licked her lips as if the answer was there on the harsh colour of the soft skin. She moved forward, standing directly in front of Ianto and squeezed his face in her small hand, exacting eye contact. Martha stole a glance at the Doctor but his attention was focused on the younger man, as was Jack's, watching down in the cells.

Nobody seemed to breathe, as if exhaling would spill the unspoken words into dimness of the Hub.

In a hotel room in Cardiff, the man known only as Waverly, paced, knowing, _feeling_ the emotion caught in the apathy of the seconds. He looked down at the alien surveillance device, willing time to move forward.

Ianto held eye contact, revealing nothing, but observing far more than the speckled pigment of the slate grey irises. The Master swam in their film, his imbalance reflected in the many facets of their colour, brilliant yet broken to the light.

As the damaged Time Lord pushed from their surface, Ianto allowed him to view the imagery of Canary Wharf and its subsequent fall-out. He had to give something and the Master latched on, suckling the memories, digging no further as he delighted in the torn recollections of human destruction.

The juvenile TARDIS felt it too as she hid within her link to Ianto's subconscious. She sensed the imminent danger as the Master fed from the young man's crushing emotions, knowing that he would not be able to limit the Time Lord's probing for long. She drew strength from him and lashed out at the Broash containment cells causing the link to the Doctor to fluctuate in a flood of gleaming light.

Lucy withdrew her grip, leaving a fan of crimson blooming on Ianto's face. "No, no, no!" she screamed, rushing to where the TARDIS was confined.

She pointed her laser screwdriver at one of the cells, impeding any further dissent from the fledgling time machine. It shrieked in a fit of energy and Ianto felt its pain spasm through his core as the Doctor's image flickered and weaved before settling back into solid form.

"You're killing her!" the Time Lord cried, while the Hub became discernible around him once more.

Lucy laughed. "Sometimes sacrifices have to be made, Doctor, you know that." Her stare was full of accusation.

"But she's just a child," the Doctor reasoned.

"Yes, they grow up so fast nowadays, don't they?" Lucy's stare rested once more on Ianto. "Such emotion buried in such a sombre young man, I think we may have to do something about that but for now, Mr Jones, I would ask you only to delight us with one of your famous cups of coffee: black with two sugars for me and I think Martha would like a cappuccino."

Lucy signalled to the guard to follow him. "Watch him closely," she whispered, "I may get you to taste test the drinks."

The UNIT man gave a quick salute as he pushed Ianto toward the old spiral fire escape where the complicated drinks still lay.

The Doctor followed them, his eyes resting on a small trickle of blood that escaped from Ianto's nose, which the young man surreptitiously wiped away. His gaze then drifted to the pulse of the coral like TARDIS and then he knew, no, he felt it, the connection, the link between his son and the embryonic time machine, because he too was apart of that bond. He knew what Ianto had done and he also knew why.

The Doctor shook his head and ran a hand through the kink of his hair, returning gaze to Lucy. "So, tell me: how did you do it?"

Lucy crossed her arms. "What resurrect myself from the ashes of your pathetic funeral pyre?"

The Doctor nodded; Lucy touched her ear. "I don't hear the magic word," she baited, lips pouting in a bud of scarlet.

"Master," the Doctor said with a certain amount of irony.

"See, this is why we get along so well." She held up her ring finger. "Recognise the gems? Pretty aren't they and they say that diamonds are a girl's best friend."

The Doctor gazed at the cardinal gems, blistering from their setting in the metal. He stepped forward. "Where did you get these?" His voice was serious.

"Can you believe the Toclafane found them at the edge of a dying universe, gave them to me as a present…" She flashed the ring around, letting the stones bleed in the light.

"They were all destroyed." The Doctor met the arch of her gaze.

"Doh! Not all of them, apparently. All it took was a few modifications to my pocket watch, a perception filter…"

The Doctor eyed her suspiciously. "Is that all?"

Lucy watched her reflection balloon in the claret of their tears. "Well, and a few test subjects, of course, had to configure them right, wouldn't want to end up shuffling around my own genius drooling from my ear." She gave him a dazzling smile.

"Why, why risk their use? You know the dangers." The Doctor shook his head.

"Call it a contingency plan. The Toclafane were just children, very dangerous children that could change their minds on a whim…"

"You were going to put your own consciousness into one of them," the Doctor speculated.

"If the need arose." She shrugged, pondering for a moment. "But only until I found better accommodation. Call me old fashioned but I do prefer arms and legs."

"And what about Lucy?" the Doctor asked.

"She was my backup should you ever escape, although she was meant to shoot me through the head, less painful that way, but don't worry we've had words."

"And tell me, does she know what's in store for her as you slowly drain her life force?" The Doctor's gaze was sombre as he tried not to look into the overwhelming flame of the stones.

Lucy shrugged. "It never really came up for discussion."

"You mean, you never told her," the Doctor rebuked.

"I was busy, taking over the Earth, it probably slipped my mind and between you and me…" she lowered her voice, "…she's a few fries short of a happy meal. So I'm doing this body a great service, until I fashion a new one of course."

She held her hands aloft. "From the ashes the phoenix arises…"

------------------------

Ianto listened to the gist of their conversation while he emptied the dregs from the metal filter. He would have just a flicker of a moment but this was his best chance. He drew a deep breath and walked over the Prestcold refrigerator that whirred with age as the door swung heavily on its metal hinges.

The UNIT man pressed his gun into Ianto's shoulder. The young man glared at him. "I need milk for the cappuccino."

Chas curtly nodded his approval and stepped back. Ianto lent into the flood of light, his mind split between the unconscious task of coffee making and the subliminal link to the young TARDIS. She answered his call in a rush of brittle pain causing Ianto to drop the two litre carton of milk. It bounced unimpressively before falling on its side.

"Good job that's not glass," Chas piped up, nodding to the plastic bottle.

"In our line of work the less breakable things are the better." Ianto braced himself against the heavy door before stooping down to retrieve it. The Unit man nodded in agreement.

Ianto turned back to the mass of pipes and cables that formed the drinks machine, empting some of the milk into a stainless steel jug. The light caught its polished surface and in its refection he saw the image of the young woman.

"_I need to speak to the Doctor," _Ianto's voice spoke inside his mind.

"_I know," _she replied, _"but I can only conceal you for a short time_."

Ianto gently turned a tap on the machine, letting cold water flow into a chamber until it reached a specified mark. _"It's all I need," _he replied, sparing a glance at the UNIT man; Chas watched him transfixed by the whole procedure.

Ianto emptied one and a half shots of espresso into the coffee basket and packed it in lightly. _"I'm ready,"_ he said as he brushed the grounds off the top and sides before attaching the filter back on the machine.

"_Prepare yourself." _

Ianto automatically placed the same amount of espresso in the second basket, his fingers pressing the grounds gently as he readied himself for the surge of her energy. He dusted his hands, scattering the welcoming aroma of coffee into the air before placing two cups under the stainless steel spouts. "You might want to step back a bit," he told the UNIT man with a small grin as he threw the toggle switch on the apparatus.

The pipes and tubes gurgled in response as water was siphon through the organic filter to be heated and force through the coffee.

Ianto felt his consciousness split between two instances as she pulled part of him from his own body, taking him through the depths of space in the split of a second.

The Doctor saw the grainy image surface by the console out of the Master's eye line. His own TARDIS lurched slightly, sacrificing her own circuitry with the intent of getting the Time Lord over to the central column. The Doctor pitched to the right as the whole image sloped in the Hub.

Lucy tilted her head, her neck at an awkward angle. The Doctor smiled as he steadied himself, looking into the slant of her eyes. "You want me to get that?" He shrugged with an air of nonchalance.

Lucy gave an exasperated sighed. "Oh very well, Doctor, but don't try anything." She shot a glance at Martha.

The Doctor made his way to the central column. "As I was saying, having a spot of problems with the stabilizers, care to give me a hand?" He looked back over his shoulder.

Lucy smiled. "Nice try." She followed the other Time Lord as he squatted under the control panel. "I will be watching, Doctor."

"I've know doubt that you will." He whispered as he pulled off one of the bulky section casings and feigned scrutinizing the tangled wires.

Ianto's image flickered. "You've taken a risk," the Doctor muttered. "Now is it red over black or black over red, I can never remember," he called out.

"Really, Doctor." Lucy's frustration was evident. "Any two-year old will tell you red over black," she replied, shaking her head.

"How do I break his hold over her?" Ianto asked, watching as his father's fingers manipulate the coloured strands.

The Doctor twisted several of the flexible wires before asking, "What's he using?"

Ianto's image fluttered between points. "Broash containment cells…"

The Time Lord nodded. "Tricky, he would have linked them to his laser screwdriver…"

"What was that Doctor?" Lucy demanded.

"Screwdriver, my sonic screwdriver, seemed to have…" he patted his trouser pockets "…nope, it's okay, I found it."

Lucy began to pace; patience was never one of the Master's virtues. "You know, you're beginning to irritate me now."

"Just need to fuse these together…" The screwdriver buzzed against the wires.

"Doctor!" Ianto's voice was strained.

"You'll need a sonic device to interrupt the signal, she'll do the rest."

The young man nodded. "I can get hold of one."

The Doctor looked at him. "You can?"

Ianto smiled. "Yes, not a screwdriver though."

"It doesn't matter." The Time Lord held his stare. "Ianto, it maybe too late to save her, you know that, don't you?" He placed the panel back with a 'thud'.

The young man nodded again. "But we've got to try, haven't we?" Around them both the TARDIS righted herself.

The Doctor got to his feet. "Yes, we have," he replied, as Ianto's image faded from view and Lucy's mobile began to ring.


	12. My Shallow Heart's The Only Thing That's

**My Shallow Heart's The Only Thing That's Beating - 12  
**

Ianto handed the cappuccino to Martha; she offered her thanks by means of a small smile as she wrapped her hands around the large cup, her attention drawn to the other side of the Hub where Lucy stood in conversation on the phone. She was out of earshot but every so often Lucy would look in the Doctor's general direction and sometimes to Martha, her eyes glistening with pleasure.

Lucy discontented the call from Neil, the Master's smile broadening her lips as she looked to Ianto. "Ah, Mr Jones, just in time." Martha felt her stomach turn.

"Ma'am?" The word was uttered with caution.

"For coffee," she said enlightening him, picking her own cup off the tray. She took a sip of the beverage and lifted an approving eyebrow. "Well, you're certainly a man with hidden depths. Why don't you take the weight off your feet? You look pooped." She kicked a high backed chair in his direction, its wheels squeaking as it veered along side him; Ianto glanced at it with misgiving.

Lucy laughed. "It's just a chair, Mr Jones." She sidled up to him, so close he could smell the Master's hostility clouding the aroma of coffee.

She placed her drink back on the tray and took it from him, positioning it on the corner of Tosh's workstation. "Please, don't make me ask again." She rested her chin on his shoulder, her breath ghosting over his neck. "I hate to be disobeyed; in fact I get rather upset, it's a foible of mine."

She swept her finger along the top of his collar. "I may start to break things, _human_ things," she whispered softly in his ear. Ianto nodded and sat in the chair, sparing a glance Martha.

Lucy picked up her drink again, watching him from over the brim. She took another sip, savouring the taste before saluting Ianto with the cup. "You know, this is really excellent. You should try it, Doctor, next time you're passing." Her eyes never left Ianto.

"Love too," the Time Lord answered, "care to release me? I have some Zel sourdough that would complement it perfectly."

Lucy sighed. "Such a pity I have other plans for today, maybe some other time, I'll check my diary and get back to you." She placed the cup and saucer down and faced the Doctor. "Building a Time Lord Empire from scratch can take a while." She gave him an enigmatic smile.

The Doctor went to parry her statement but Lucy held up her hand. "Hold that thought, there's something I have to do first. Douglas." She charged toward the anxious Mr Witherspoon and spun him fiercely in his chair.

"Miss Cole," he answered, trying to recover his equilibrium when she abruptly stopped him.

Lucy sat on the desk, picking up a picture of Rhys and studying it. "I need some information from the data base." She bent close to his ear and whispered into it.

Wide-eyed, Witherspoon nodded, scribbling something down on a pad. He swallowed nervously. "Could-could I just check the spelling on that." His pen tapped the letters he'd just written.

Lucy carefully positioned the photo back on the workspace and stood. She grabbed a handful of Witherspoon's wavy hair and pushed his head down onto the hard desk. "L," she cried out, jerking him up again.

"A." His face hit the durable surface once more before being yanked up roughly.

"T," she continued, pounding his nose into the desk, "do you, really, want me to spell check the rest for you?"

The hapless Witherspoon shook his head, cupping his nose in his hands to restrict the blood flow. "No, Miss Cole," he answered nasally. "Thank you."

"Makes working for you a breeze, Harkness," Owen surmised from his vantage point in the cells.

Gwen turned away from the screen. "Jack, any idea…"

Owen snorted and gave her an incredulous look. "You're asking the wrong person there, Gwen, he's not _Torchwood's eclectic archivist_. And our best bet of finding out what she's searching for is up there, hob-knobbing with the big bad in the Hub."

Jack edged nearer the screen, his eyes never leaving the flash of images. "That's what worries me."

Lucy wiped her hands on Witherspoon's back looking up as the cog door rolled. "Ah, I sent out for doughnuts, care to join me, Martha? Wouldn't want you wasting away." She took the plain white boxes from a dog faced UNIT man. "Thank you, Baum."

He nodded and walked back to the door as Lucy offered one to Martha. "Go on, take one, you know you want too," she coaxed, "I bought enough for everyone." She leaned nearer the other woman. "Could be your last," she suggested with a smile and a wink. Martha took one even though she had no appetite; it felt heavy in her hand.

"Good girl," Lucy praised, "and Mr Jones?" She moved the box over to Ianto, peering at its contents to promote the sugar coated cakes. "Don't worry, I'll send some down to your colleagues in the cells." She turned to the camera. "Call it a last meal, shame they didn't arrive earlier, I'm sure Miss Sato would have liked one, a bit on the bony side that girl. Never mind, I'll get them to stick one in her chamber for later, they freeze well, apparently."

"Fucking bitch!" Owen shouted uselessly at the screen.

Lucy smiled. "Oh, Dr Harper, I'm only just getting started." She turned her attention to Ianto. "I can't tempt you, Mr Jones?" she asked raising an eyebrow, parting her lips slightly.

"Never cared for doughnuts much," Ianto admitted, his eyes holding their own against her stare.

Lucy grabbed one from the box and shut the lid. "Very well, your loss. Baum!" She summoned the UNIT man to her side. "Take the rest of these down to team Torchwood with my complements."

"Ma'am." He nodded, pausing slightly.

Lucy gave a frustrated sigh. "What?"

Baum swallowed. "There's also that little matter of the creature down there…"

"Oh yes, Dr Herpes's clone, I quite forgotten…"

"We call her Janet," Ianto interject. "Would you like me to..?"

Lucy smiled in his direction. "No, Mr Jones, Baum here will take care of _her_. Won't you Adam?"

The UNIT man looked suddenly worried. "Ma'am?"

She stepped a little closer, lowering her voice, her eyes hardening in the dim light. "Take one of my research assistance with you and your mobile, I want to see how they kill."

Baum understood her meaning. He smiled. "Anyone in particular, ma'am?"

Lucy pondered his question, her eyes searching the Hub. She smiled. "I think I can spare…" she halted briefly, "… her." She gestured to a woman with overly pink nails and matching pop socks. "I believe she's stupid enough to enter the cell with a box of doughnuts."

Baum followed her gaze. "Miss Macy," he said softly, with a hint of approval.

"Yes, Casey Macy, sort of tired of that name now, in the words of Paul Simon, '_don't find it amusing any more_.' How about you, Martha?" She turned to the young woman sitting in the chair. "Casey Macy, Casey Macy - sort of lost that humorous edge, don't you think?"

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Martha replied. "You're going to kill someone because you don't find their name funny anymore."

"You make me sound so autocratic," Lucy countered, "and I hired her because I found it so entertaining. Actually, I hired most of them because of their funny names."She placed her doughnut down and licked her fingers. "Nothing like hearing, 'Lou Pole to Miss Cole's office,' coming over the tannoy or introducing Doctor Don Key to a conference room full of stuffy, grave faced ministers."

Lucy nudged the other woman. "Oh, come on, Martha, smile, it's funny."

"I guess I don't share your sick sense of humour."

"Well, I'm sure we'll laugh about it later." Lucy gestured to Martha's cake. "You've not touched your doughnut; you're not going anorexic on me?"

"I've lost my appetite," Martha replied, placing the cake down on her lap.

Lucy picked up her own sugar coated doughnut. "Never mind, we can order take-out later, catch up on a few things, like Mum and Dad Jones, I've so missed them, especially Francine's scowl."

Lucy whirled around to face the other Time Lord. "How about you, Doctor? Missed them? All those little moments you shared on the Valiant? Although, if I'm honest, Francine never liked you, she disapproved of your relationship with her daughter; you see, you seem to attract your fair share of danger. She confided as much to me when she thought I could help. Still, I'm sure she approves of your new beau, Dr Tom, eh, Martha?"

"That's none of your business," the other woman spat with venom.

"Oh, Martha, I see we're going to have to work on our relationship as friends. So I'll go first, shall I, I'll let you in to my little plan and then maybe you'll feel like sharing later, okay? Now, I'll try and keep it simple, so do try and keep up." She held up her doughnut. "You take a planet, let's call it um, Earth…"

"Earth," Martha repeated, narrow eyes following the honey coloured cake.

"Yep, that's the one. And you repopulate it with Time Lords."

"Earth already has inhabitants," Martha stated needlessly.

"Oh, she's bright, Doctor: I can see why you chose her." Lucy shook the doughnut. "Oh, where did all the sugar go? Off into the universe to sweeten other planets."

"What, exactly, are you going to do with the population of this planet?" Jack's voice echoed from the containment area.

"A direct question deserves a direct answer, freak." Lucy wiped some sugar from the front of her suit. "But don't worry, I'm going to keep some of you but the others…" she spared a glance at Ianto before taking a large bite into the doughnut, jam oozed from inside to bleed on her fingers. Lucy sucked it from her skin, "… I'm auctioning off. I think you're going to like this one, Doctor."

"I really don't think I am," the Doctor answered.

"No, but I like to keep up the pretence. Miss Royds, the website if you please."

The Doctor cocked an eyebrow. "Emma," Lucy whispered as the home page appeared on the display screen. "I designed all this myself."

"Looks a bit like eBay," the Doctor commented, quickly digesting the roll of information.

Lucy scowled. "I did use that as my inspiration, but the little dancing man in the right hand corner was all my own work." She pointed.

"_The One Stop Human Shop_," Ianto read out loud.

Lucy grinned over her shoulder at him. "Catchy isn't it?"

"You're auctioning off the human race," Martha repeated in disbelief.

"Glad you caught up there; I did try and keep it straightforward as possible." Lucy waved the remains of her doughnut about. "And I must say, you're going like hotcakes, look at those numbers."

"I've another bid in from Raxacoricofallapatorius," the large bone Miss Royds informed them.

Lucy spoke to the Doctor. "They're setting up a human game reserve on one of their polar regions. What are they offering?" she asked.

Miss Royds sucked in her small pouty mouth. "Um, a Hyposlip-500-light speed-podule."

Lucy sighed. "I expect a small moon or planet, they're quite specific in their requirements. Do you know the work involved in targeting breeding couples?" She looked around the Hub. "Tell them no deal."

"You can't do this!" Martha rose from her seat.

"Well, I don't want to sell you off too cheap…"

Exasperated Martha shook her head. "No, auction off the human race."

"Oh, but I can." Lucy popped the remains of her doughnut in her mouth with a smug smile. "Who's going to stop me?" She turned her focus to the Doctor trapped in the time bubble.

"I hate to say this, but there's a small flaw in your plan." The Doctor removed his glasses and tucked them into his pocket.

Lucy arched an eyebrow. "Really?" She looked back at the display. "Looks fine to me."

The Doctor rocked back on his heels. "The whole _Time Lord Empire_ thing, you going to go it alone?"

"No, Doctor, far from it."

"There are only two of us left…" He spread his hands.

"In this time," Lucy countered with a smile, picking up Jack's wrist strap from the desk.

"Hey, don't you get sugar on that!" Jack shouted at the camera.

"Wouldn't dream of it, freak," Lucy countered, her gaze resting on the Doctor's reaction.

He stilled. "You can't!" It was a sharp whisper, snapping through the Hub.

"You know, people keep saying that to me." Lucy walked behind Martha and rested her hands on the young doctor's shoulders, pushing her back down into her seat. "When really, I can."

"But think of the paradox," the Doctor argued.

Lucy rolled her eyes. "Oh, that old chestnut." She waved it away with the flick of her hand as she used the laser screwdriver.

Fragile embers of light seared the connection between the young TARDIS and the rift as the Master pushed their collective forces to the brink, splitting their focus.

For a moment the Doctor's image rippled and he felt the brutal pull on the young time machine's resources. Ianto felt its burn too as she was ripped apart to take control of two points in time. He shared a quick glance with his father as the imaged of the website changed before them.

The Hub basked in a rich amber glow as a planet lit the screen with burnt orange hues, warm and vivid against the dark of space. The flame of its mottled landscape blistered the pitch of the universe in temperate colours of mustard, henna, saffron and gold.

Gallifrey.

"Beautiful isn't it?" Lucy lent closer to Martha.

"Yes." It was an inadvertent slip but the word fell from Ianto's lips.

Lucy regarded him for a moment before turning back to the screen.

"Gallifrey," she announced. "This is a snapshot, a moment in time, before the final battle, before it was destroyed." Lucy draped Jack's time strap over her wrist and fastened it. "Do they do these in red?" She turned to the feed of the cells and looked at the captain; Jack remained silent, his focus on Ianto.

Lucy laughed. "I guess they don't." She lifted the flap and manipulated the controls. The picture zoomed to the towers of the citadel, resplendent against the cinnamon and apricot landscape. "They thought the children would be safe in the lower catacombs, away from the fighting…"

Lucy let the tall structures cast their shadows over the Hub. She looked to the Doctor. "…And now I can control the rift and step back to snatch them from the jaws of death and build a new empire from the sacrifice of their parents."

The Doctor shook his head. "This will not put right what you did." He lowered his voice.

Lucy turned on him. "Did! You have no understanding of what I did!"

"You gave our enemies the frequency to the Transduction Barrier, you let them in…"

"Yes, to extinguish the old ways," Lucy sneered. "To bring about our rebirth as was foretold when I looked into the Untempered Schism."

"You were a just a frightened child then, what you saw…"

"How would you know what I saw? You ran, I did not." She walked to the edge of the Doctor's image, fraying slightly with the burden of the split. Her stare was fixed beyond him, her eyes infused with madness. "I didn't even blink and it came to me in both light and shadow, my future, my divine birthright."

"Your birthright?" the Doctor quizzed.

"To rebuild an empire from Gallifrey's ashes and elevated us beyond the constraints of our apathy." The Master's face overshadowed Lucy's in a double exposure.

The Doctor shook his head. "Oh, we were not destined to be gods, far from it…"

Lucy gestured to the other Time Lord's TARDIS. "And yet, we were given the keys to space and time…"

"Not to change it only to guard against corruption."

"You're wrong, Doctor, we exist to be its masters."

The two men stared at each other, the Doctor cocked an eyebrow. "Am I? Then tell me, if you were destined to be our savour why did you wipe your memories and hide at the edge of the universe?"

Lucy glared with Saxon's eyes. "To make sure I survived." Her voice was a little uneven.

"By changing your biodata and removing everything that made you who you are? To become a god trapped in human form?"

"It was a gamble, but my destiny was mapped…"

"A gamble that freed you from any semblance of guilt…"

Lucy laughed, it was hard and insular. "My conscience is clear, Doctor, I did what I had to."

The Doctor shook his head. "To save yourself…"

"Enough!" Lucy turned away from his direct stare and powered down the wrist device. "Mr Witherspoon, the information you've been correlating for me."

A Torchwood data file rolled against the screen, opening a series of electronic dossiers of the Doctor's companions, zooming in on their images in sequence.

"I also have that other information you required," Witherspoon said, handing a printed sheet to Lucy; his hand trembled as he did.

She scanned the copy. "Interesting."

"What is this?" the Doctor asked.

"My revenge," Lucy answered, screwing up the piece of paper and tossing it in the bin. "I must congratulate Torchwood for keeping such excellent records…"

"For what purpose?" the Doctor questioned.

Lucy shrugged. "Who knows why Torchwood would keep such meticulous data on your companions, recruitment purposes? She looked at Martha.

The Doctor tried again. "For what purpose do you need to access them?"

Lucy's smile was malicious. "What do you think, Doctor, what would hurt you the most?"

Martha searched the array of faces shifting backwards and forwards on the screen. "You're going to kill us?"

Lucy crouched down to her eyelevel and wheeled her nearer. "Each and every one of you." She squeezed Martha's face. "But don't worry, I'll wait until he's dumped you back into normality, I don't want to mess with the timeline too much."

She sighed. "My only problem is where to start, at the end or the beginning? Which would you prefer, Doctor?" She let go of Martha's face and turned to the other Time Lord. "Should I start with Susan or Dr Jones here?"

Lucy smiled as she stood. "Think about it, Doctor, you abandon your own granddaughter on a damaged Earth, leave her to her own fate in a unforgiving universe…" Susan's picture pushed to the forefront of the screen. "A young woman, in love for the first time, who has survived countless threats while travelling with you and the moment she gets her independence – bang!" A black mark appears on Susan's forehead, expanding until it covered her face.

Lucy turned from the image. "I wonder if her eyes will hold that same look as her grandmother's did in that second before death. They share the same eyes, don't you think? Rich and dark, like the dappled swirl of Aurum chocolate."

"Don't do this…" the Doctor pleaded, his voice small and almost meek.

Lucy just laughed, turning to the display. A young woman with a friendly face stared back, her golden hair layered and fine against her neck. "Ah, Miss Grant, or should I say Mrs Jones?" Her gazed shifted to Ianto and Martha, snaring them in its hold. "There's that name again, dogging me, troubling my senses. I wonder if fate is trying to tell me something, eh?"

"Jones is a very common name," Ianto remarked.

"Ah, yes, so it is, especially in Wales." Lucy countered. "She married a Welshman, a Professor Clifford Jones, perhaps you've met?"

"The Noble Prize winner?" Ianto shook his head. "Only in print for a school project on the Amazon," he stated, holding eye contact.

Lucy tapped her temple. "Oh well, it was just an avenue of thought." She chewed the inside of her cheek. "What about a Mr Latimer?" There was something in her dual stare that made him feel uneasy, like she was testing the waters.

Ianto's exterior remained calm, while he quickly weighed his options. The seconds stretched like a finely tuned cord but Ianto remained composed under the blight of her gaze. "I've never met the man, but I believe he sent an artefact for the Torchwood archives."

Lucy grinned widened. "Well fielded, Mr Jones, I normally can tell when someone is lying to me but you, you're a bit of a conundrum, maybe that's why the freak's so attracted to you." She watched him for a moment before striding the few paces to Tosh's workstation.

Her heels tapped against the floor, seemingly drowning out all other noise, its steel rhythm foreboding. Lucy picked up the Nostrum Analyser and smiled at Martha. "Your hand please?"

Like Tosh before her Martha was cautious. Lucy stepped forward and grabbed her wrist. "Humour me, it's my new thing, I'm doing it to everyone."

Martha let her guide the device over her hand, watching as the screen lit up with an array of alien cipher. "What is that?" the Doctor asked, unable to see.

"A Nostrum Analyser, I made it myself." She turned her head slightly to tackle the Doctor's stare; the other Time Lord swallowed his concern.

"And what's that when it's at home?" Martha asked, cradling her hand.

"It collates data on space and time travel," Lucy indulged. "You see, each mode of transport has its own unique signature and each place you've been leaves its trace written in your blood. It's only a minute residue but this can find and track where and when you've been. Clever isn't it?" She watched the symbols spool on the display. "Oooh, now this is interesting, fifteen-ninety-nine."

Lucy arched her eyebrow. "Elizabethan London." She began to quote, "_My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; coral is far more red than her lips' red. If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun. If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head…  
_

"Now I always wondered where he got the inspiration from, Doctor, did the lovely Miss Jones, charm him, I wonder?"

Owen looked at Jack. "He who?"

Gwen rolled her eyes. "Shakespeare," she answered.

Owen shook his head. "We get fucking Weevils, he gets Shakespeare."

The cog door opened. Lucy looked up at the man standing in the entrance. "Ah, Neil, you missed doughnuts."

"Never mind, ma'am," he said with a certain amount of smugness.

"You have something for me I believe?" Lucy enquired.

"I do," he confirmed, handing her the wooden box.

Lucy turned to the Doctor. "Another box to open, it's almost like my birthday." She looked at the brass plate. "T. Latimer," she read, taking off the lid; to his surprise, Ianto recognised the box immediately, so too did Jack.

"Well, well, well, look what we have here." She pulled out the fob watch by its chain. "I stopped wearing mine for a bit, but then I decided I should as a symbolic gesture to my life in human form. Have you still got yours, Doctor?" It was a pointless question.

The Doctor followed the pendulum motion of the watch. "I gave mine away. I believe you have it there."

"Ah yes, to a Tim Latimer, a school boy."

"A very brave school boy," the Doctor contradicted.

"I've no doubt," Lucy acknowledged with a roll of her eyes.

"So, any chance I could get it back?"

Lucy turned to Ianto. "It was in Mr Jones's possession, I believe." The comment waited for elaboration.

"Where did you..?" Ianto began tracking the sway of the timepiece.

"From a jeweller's in the town," Neil answered, crossing his arms.

Ianto shook his head. "But I never…" He looked toward his father.

Lucy smiled at him. "Never what, Mr Jones?" She asked, drifting to his side.

Ianto shook his head. "There's a note inside," Neil informed them eagerly.

"So there is," Lucy revealed, lifting it out and sealing the watch back into its case.

She handed the box back to Neil before unfolding the paper. She cleared her throat, reading the roam of formal script that decorated the page. "_Dear Mr Jones… blah, blah, blah… Farringham School… a very charismatic fellow…" _she arched an eyebrow in the Doctor's direction,_ "… with more 'time' on his hands than he knew what to with… blah, blah… _ Oh, now, this is interesting."

Her finger followed the loop of the letters. _"For many years I believed that I was given this as a memento of that occasion, but now, I realise, that it was a keepsake to be passed on when the 'time' was right." _Her gaze strayed to Ianto.

"_Please pass on my regards when your paths cross."_

Lucy pushed the letter back in Neil's direction. "You know, I'm getting pieces, here…" she tapped the side of her head, "…that don't quite make a picture." She looked at the Doctor. "From you, I'm getting glimpses, flashes of past shadows, a peal of ghostly voices prickling my senses and you…" she rounded on Ianto, "…you make me nervous, like you're something I should be able to see clearly and yet, and yet…"

She licked her lips. "Give me your hand."

"My hand, ma'am, I don't understand?" Ianto played for time.

"Oh, I think you do, Mr Jones." She retrieved the Analyser. "But if you need persuading, I'm sure I could shoot one of your colleagues."

Ianto offered her his palm and Lucy ran the device over it; it bleeped once, and then, twice, the usual green lettering turning amber across the screen. Lucy studied the response, her eyes widening slightly. "Well, to quote many a good western: _you're not quite from around these parts, are you son_?"

Ianto remained quiet. "Your energies are slightly out of sync; I'll go as far as to say alternate. You also have a very large rift signature the same as those who fall through its spike. But the most fascinating reading is not the one that you share with Martha, here…" she brushed the young woman's face; Martha jerked away. "… no, it's the ghost of the trace energies your blood contains, they're almost comparable to what I would expect to see from my own or yours, Doctor." Lucy looked up at the other man. She smiled at him, laying a hand on Ianto's shoulder and giving it a hard squeeze. "Mr Jones, here, holds a watered-down version of all your travels in his blood. Now I find that curious; is there anything you wish to share, Doctor?"

The Doctor remained tight-lipped, chewing the inside of his cheek.

"No?" Lucy asked, placing the device down and taking out her laser screwdriver. She aimed it at Ianto, depressing the button. A stream of energy hit the young man; he buckled and fell to the floor with a yelp of pain. Martha rose instantly from seat but Lucy's focus remained on the Doctor, for as the discharged bolt struck Ianto, he pitched forward, gripping his stomach.

Lucy smiled, walking between the two men. "So let's see if I get this right." She arched a questioning eyebrow. "His blood is your blood so therefore my sweet little TARDIS links you both." She eyed the Doctor. "If I cut him, do you bleed?"

"You're sick," Martha shouted, supporting Ianto as he tried to stand.

"Is that you're medical opinion, Dr Jones?" Lucy sneered but attention was on Ianto. "What are you?" It was a whisper, spoken on a puff of breath. "You seemed to be an amalgam of things that shouldn't be and yet here you stand. What was he, Doctor, a science project?"

"Let him go." The Doctor's voice was hard and defiant.

"Ooh, let me think about that for a moment. Um, no!"

Lucy watched Ianto struggle to his feet. "I want to find out how you came to be, Ianto Jones." She reached out and brushed his face with her fingers.

"Neil." Lucy spoke without turning round. "Take Miss Jones down to the cells and stick our other two Torchwoodites in the freezer."

"Yes, ma'am." He hesitated. "What about the…" He held up the box.

Lucy stared at the container. "You may keep it with my gratitude."

Neil's thin lips split into a smile as Lucy summoned a couple of UNIT men. "Hold him." She gestured to Ianto. "Now this is going to hurt…" she paused, "… a lot."

She held up her ring. "Look into the eyes, look into the eyes, the eyes, the eyes, not around the eyes, don't look around the eyes, look into the eyes."

The stones blinked and screamed at him in a thousand different voices of pain, their colour washing into his vision, drowning him in their carmine oceans of suppressed truths and secrets. He heard the Master's voice as he drifted away from his body, unable to kick against their current. "It takes the eyes of the dead to see into the soul of the living."

Then everything went white.


	13. Sometimes I Wish Someone Out There Will

**Sometimes I Wish Someone Out There Will Find Me - 13**

"_I'm forever blowing bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air. They fly so high, nearly reach the sky, then like my dreams they fade and die. Fortune's always hiding, I've looked everywhere, I'm forever blowing bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air."  
_

Ianto blinked against the light, his eyes burning against its brilliance.

"_I'm dreaming dreams_, _I__'m scheming schemes_."

Something soft popped against his skin.

"_I'm building castles high_. _They're born anew__, t__heir days are few__, j__ust like a sweet butterfly_."

He blinked again, focusing through the blinding fog of white.

"_And as the daylight is dawning_, _t__hey come again in the morning_."

Again something skimmed past him, kissing his skin before it burst with a quiet 'pop'. A bubble. Ianto's eyesight cleared. Lucy Saxon sat crossed legged before him dipping a wand into a tube of bubble solution.

"_I'm f__orever blowing bubbles__, __pretty bubbles in the air__. __They fly so high__, n__early reach the sky__…" _She blew gently through the hole, producing a dozen glittering spheres of various sizes.

She watched them drift in the endless ivory of the room, the transparent rainbow of their skins holding the only colour apart from the scarlet of her lipstick, which had been smeared across her mouth.

"_Then like my dreams__, t__hey fade and die__. __Fortune's always hiding__, __I've looked everywhere__. __I'm forever blowing bubbles__, p__retty bubbles in the air__."_

Lucy caught a bubble on the wand and looked at him through its sphere. "Are you real?" she whispered, her other hand pulling at the tangled mess of her knotted hair. "We don't get many visitors here." Her eyes stared wildly around the empty space.

Ianto looked about; there were no doors or windows, just a never-ending burn of white. "Where is here?"

She giggled, spinning round on her bottom, the taffeta of her chalky dress swishing as it twisted; its great length seamless against the pale surroundings. She rolled over onto her front and regarded him, her body wasted in the folds of the overwhelming material. "We're in his mind," she replied, her gaze measuring his reaction.

Ianto stood and looked into the glare of white; Lucy crawled toward him, the train of her dress trailing behind in clumsy waves.

"Did you think it would be black, Mr Jones, Ianto Jones, his mind?" Lucy laughed. "That would be in his hearts, sir, or the void where we keep our soul. Black it is - no daylight there. Just a coarse and prickly blanket of hate, that's his soul, Ianto Jones, sir."

Lucy stopped, resting the weighty pull of the dress on bony arms. "Are you real? Sometimes his mind plays tricks on me. Sometimes things fall through his thoughts, black and scary things that change the blankness and take you through his looking glass." She stood. "Welcome to the first circle of hell, Mr Jones, Ianto Jones."

She ran off into the distance, her bare feet padding in the emptiness, the taffeta whispering in rippling folds behind her. She fell back onto the cloud of the material. "I hope you're not real," she shouted, "for then I would have no hope and you must have hope, you must." She clutched at the fabric and brought it around her, nestling in its abundant folds.

Ianto went to her and crouched down. "I am real," he said, holding out his hand.

Lucy reached up and touched its softness. "Then you are lost too." She bowed her head, rubbing at the bodice, trying to remove the crimson stain resulting from her lipstick.

Ianto gently took both her hands in his. Lucy looked up at him, tears forming in her eyes. "It looks like blood. In fact I think it's pouring." Around them blood spread across the expanse, soaking up the bleached space in an unwelcoming claret.

Lucy laughed a brittle little laugh and pulled him nearer to her. "Kill me, please, don't let the clowns get me. Can you hear them? They're laughing with creased faces full of death. They bite you know? They stab with clawed hands while they sing their jovial clown songs. No two are alike, but they all smile those combustible smiles, flame red with yellow teeth."

The seep of carmine fashioned itself into dozens of elongated lips, twisted and stretched over the snarl of decaying teeth. They laughed, filling the air with their warped, cadaverous humour. Lucy jammed her hands over her ears, her lips muttering in desperation. _"In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came. That voice which calls to me and speaks my name. And do I dream again? For now I find, the phantom of the opera is there, inside my mind."_ She threw herself into the vast train of her dress, covering her head in its material.

Ianto stood, challenging the shoal of floating lips as they coasted toward him. "Clowns never frightened me," he stated, watching as their bullying laughter melted back into the pale surroundings.

A whisper breezed past, soft and light, making Ianto jerked his head to follow the sound. For a moment he saw a blaze of colour, a silhouette, a young woman turn to meet his gaze through the mist. Dark eyes, deep, vibrant, bewitching.

"…_Rich and dark, like the dappled swirl of Aurum chocolate." _The riddle of the Master's voice floated through the spectre of her presence.

She laughed. The sound was honeycomb sweet, mellow and warm, making Ianto stepped forward to touch its gift and savour its radiance. He reached out his hand, his fingertips making ripples in the fragile film that separated them both. It was then he understood; she was a glimpse of a memory, a catalyst that had once shaped the Master's past and the fragile fibre of his youth.

Ianto concentrated, trying to draw the fragmented image to the surface of the Master's mind, to glean understanding from the flash of her apparition.

_Sanna_. The name drifted through the breach as the woman aged gracefully before him. Her laughter faded as time gather around her eyes shrouding them with sorrow and heartache. A single tear fell as death claimed her for his own, a tear full of compassion and forgiveness. She reached out, fingertips thick with blood to caress his face before fading back into the glaring whiteness.

Ianto touched his cheek, touched her mark upon his skin and touched the graze of the past. He felt irritated; he didn't want her kindness, her sympathy, her understanding. He wanted her to burn as he burnt, feel the flame of festering anger…

Something glinted in his hand, a knife, coated and dripping with blood. He lifted it up, catching the reflection in its blade, catching the image of another man.

A hand reached through the ether, more bone than flesh, blackened and putrefying from the inside out. It grabbed his wrist, coiling with a click of knuckles and crushing strength. The knife fell back into the past and its monster stepped through the divide.

Lucy screamed as the decaying shell of a man slammed into Ianto, tipping him backward onto the floor. This _was_ the Master, wasted and charred by the burn of his severe emotions, a mixed being of rage and envy, fuelled by rejection, denied by love, warping the sanity of his youth and pushing him over the edge.

His other hand gripped Ianto's neck, squeezing with sustained pressure, leaving disc like bruises to form on his skin from its expose bony tips. Ianto fought against the fierce hold as the Master swapped his grip, choking him further into oblivion. The slate of his jaw moved, teeth grinding against one another, snarling at Ianto through perished lips. "Now, Mr Jones, I've show you mine, time to show me yours."

He released Ianto from the clog of strangulation to bring the skull of his face nearer. The scorched flesh of the Master's forehead touched Ianto's own, adhering to the younger man in its jellied state. The Time Lord smiled death's eternal grin as he began to probe Ianto's mind.

----------------------------

Chess. Ianto saw the large board before him, its chequered squares reaching out into the distance. The tall pieces towering above him were the still effigies of those who shared his life.

'_Is this my mind?' _he asked himself, looking out across the orderly rows.

"I gave you white, I thought it would be apt." The man who had once been Harold Saxon was lent against an opposing pawn, a UNIT soldier dress in full battle fatigues.

He straightened his posture; adjusting the cuffs of his suit, one that matched Ianto's own and clicked his fingers, the pieces on both sides began to move with graceful ease. Ianto heard the haunting voices of his childhood blow across the board on prevailing winds. Images flashed past him, trailing in the stream of their wake, the emotions of the each moment stirring the cloth of his jacket and ruffling his hair.

Ianto's queen moved beside him, his mother fashioned from marble, staring out across the board, accessing the opposition's formation. The Master's dark knight, an ebony Slitheen, travelled across the rank and file to capture her.

"What a shame to loose your queen so early on," Saxon consoled as Ianto relived those stark moments of mother's violent demise. The stone crumbled, her body becoming flesh to bleed its silhouette into the wood.

The game continued, his memories spilling across the uniformed battlefield in systematic order. The opening move, the middle game, each occurrence of his life brought to the forefront, every emotion relived. Ianto experienced the fall of Torchwood One as his rook was taken by the march of a Cyber knight.

"I think I enjoy this part of you the most," the Master whispered in his ear, "apart from all that death and destruction you witnessed, the sensation of guilt is just _so_ intense. You knew this was coming, didn't you? I mean, Rose must have told you how she came to be in another universe? How your father saved her own reality from the twin threat of Cybermen and Daleks?"

"You cannot change the past," Ianto whispered mutely.

"And yet you condemned all those people to death." The Master laughed. "And I thought I was meant to be the bastard?"

Ianto swallowed, watching as the Cyber-knight turned and the metal casing began to unwrapped itself from its core body, carefully stripping some parts of its conversion. "Turn you on?" the Master enquired, as the human beneath the metal upgrade became evident.

Lisa.

Ianto's pieces moved forward, en masse, Owen, Tosh, Gwen and Jack. Lisa captured a pawn in a bid to escape but Torchwood cornered the piece, taking her out in a volley of bullets.

"No!" Ianto screamed, watching Lisa crumple like a disused marionette.

The Master stepped forward, dabbing his eyes with a tissue. "I'm such an old romantic; I do like a good love story especially one with a tragic end. Boy meets girl, girl gets converted into a sect of metal monsters; boy tries to save girl by giving his soul to another monster, a freak of nature; freak kills girl and boy gives his heart to the freak." He moved closer to Ianto's ear. "I bet you were glad, deep down, Mr Jones, when Torchwood rid you of your responsibility."

Ianto shook his head. "Oh, come on," the Master pushed, prodding him with a finger. "I'm in your mind. She became a burden in the end, didn't she? How many times did you think about pulling the plug, doubling her medication?"

Ianto pushed away. "Never, I loved her!" He stared at his tormentor.

The Master's smile held a hint of triumph. "Then why did you let her go to work that day?" He spread his hands.

Ianto averted his gaze to the pattern of the grain on the floor. "I - you-you can't change the past."

The Master stepped forward. "Really? But by being there you did change the past, in fact, you created a paradox. Two places at one time…" He held up the same amount of fingers for emphasis.

Ianto flinched. "No, that's not true."

"But it is, dear boy, even if you were just a speck of energy inside Rose, you _were _there none the less."

Ianto licked his dry lips, the weave of the wood forming ghostly faces in its surface, the knot of their hollow eyes full of accusations.

"And Lisa?" the Master continued, watching the smoothness of the board buckle with the press of Ianto's guilt. "She was your atonement, your penance for leaving so many to perish."

The wood began to splinter as cracks appeared in its surface. "I could…"

"What? Couldn't save her? Couldn't save them? Or could only save yourself? I mean, what sort of son condemns his own mother to die in another universe away from the man she loves? You knew what was going to happen, you could have sacrificed yourself and taken her place…"

"You think I didn't try?" Ianto's pain resounded in his voice. "I was too late," he whispered, "she'd already gone."

The fractures ripped open, tipping the pieces into its ebony void; Ianto fell to his knees, his heart sinking, pulling at its cords with a leaded weight.

"Lucky for you then, Mr Jones, you got to save yourself twice." The Master stroked the top of his head. "Oh, don't get me wrong, I admire self-preservation, in fact I think it's something we could build on…"

"Leave him alone!" The chess board faded back to white and the Doctor stood in the brightness.

"Ah, I was wondering if you'd have the mental capacity to turn up." The Master pushed Ianto away and walked to the other Time Lord. The Doctor was pale, a sheen of sweat glistening across his brow. "I see it's taken its toll on you." He smiled. "Or maybe the boy's emotional anguish is the cause."

The Doctor swayed slightly. "Let him go," he said again, his bloodshot eyes betraying his own pain.

"But I feel like a kitten with a new ball of wool." The Master rocked back and forth on his heels. He looked back at Ianto. "You must be so proud; he has your morals, even if they mean sentencing so many to die…" He raised his voice so the younger man could hear, "…even his own mother. You must feel like a god, Ianto Jones."

A wave of emotion pushed out from Ianto causing the Doctor to double over. "Don't listen to him Ianto, you did the right thing…"

Ianto looked up at his father and the Master. "Is this another trick, another game?"

"I'd like to say, yes, but I'm afraid he's gate-crashed our little _mind_ party," the Master answered.

Ianto looked to his father. "I tried," he whispered as if the words could expunge the rip of guilt.

The Doctor's stare remained sober even though his hearts lay in a thousand shattered pieces. "There was nothing you could have done, Ianto." He stepped forward, offering the young man his hand. "Don't listen to his lies."

"But we're all so full of them aren't we, Doctor? They're apart of our everyday performance; some come cheap while others cost us dear."

The Doctor helped Ianto to his feet. "Were yours worth your family?" the Master poised, walking around the two men.

"I never lied to you," the Doctor answered honesty. "We were friends, once, good friends."

The Master laughed, its sound stippling his mind with shadows. He stepped into the Doctor's face. "And yet you took what should have been mine."

The Doctor shook his head, holding the shade of the Master's thoughts. "No, it just happened…"

Saxon's skin began to blister in the heat of his rage. "You filled her head with your deceitful nonsense, laughed behind my back…"

"No, we never…"

The Master's flesh baked on the bones of his soul. "I was the better man, I deserved her love!"

"She did love you…" A charred hand hit out, fuelled by the longevity of raw hate. The blow caused the Doctor to fall to the ground.

"I'm going to cripple you, smash your hearts and rip your soul in two." The Master turned his focus to Ianto. "You're going to feel this boy's pain, the scale of his every emotion bleed inside you until you beg me to kill him."

"Never!" the Doctor yelled.

"We'll see," the Master promised.


	14. Til Then I Walk Alone

**'Til then I walk alone - 14**

Waverly poured another glass of brandy, the sound soothing against unseen trauma coming from the alien device. He sat in the plush chair and closed his eyes, swallowing against his immediate reaction to rescue Ianto of whom he thought of as his own flesh and blood.

He had served for many years in both the navy and UNIT, hard years, full of death, destruction and unearthly foes, the stuff that his father thought would make a man of him even if he disagreed with his choice of career; the old man preferring him to have command of a destroyer not a sick bay, but by becoming a Royal Navy Surgeon he kept some semblance of a compromise between them both. He had been born into a long line of duty bound seafarers, all of whom had distinguished themselves in the heat of long past adventures and battles. It was a shame, therefore, that his father had no idea that his son had fought to save the Earth on several occasions, as well as many of its enemies in time and space.

He took a sip of his drink but the liquid did nothing to ease his tension; nothing in his past had prepared him for this. He gripped the glass tighter wishing he could do something other than wait, but this was what they had agreed and he knew if he charged in now everything would be lost.

His mind drifted in the brandy to that precocious child born from the rift. Of how Ianto had contacted him, out of the blue, a month after he'd first arrived. He had been in Geneva at the time, trying to broker a tentative peace between two warring overlords, so he had been startled to receive a communiqué from a seven-year-old boy. There was nothing earth-shattering in its contents, in fact it was merely an invitation to a game of chess on his return, but over the years, experience and training had taught him to read between the lines.

Intrigued, he had met with the boy and found him to be… He was never sure if one word could describe Ianto's quiet and subtle dignity or the way someone so unobtrusive could shine from within and yet no one else in Torchwood had given him a second look. So, what had started as a curious one off game ended in a twice weekly rematch, with both of them playing more than just chess.

He placed his glass down on the broad arm of the chair, smiling, despite the heaviness of his heart. He rubbed his face. Patience was something he had learned with age and he had given Ianto as much time as he needed to take his measure, after all, in the end the game was all about gaining each other's trust.

It had taken three months for Ianto to finally confide in him.

It happened on a walk along the bay. They had sat on some disused pallets, eating a lunch of crusty cheese rolls and orange Tango while watching the lift and swing of the large cranes redeveloping the waterfront.

_Ianto unwrapped his paper bag, laying it flat on his lap to smooth out the creases. "You know," he said, looking out at the rusty old corrugated buildings waiting to be demolished, "that there are infinite possibilities." He took a large bite of the roll, the top flaking into the wind._

'_Infinite possibilities', the words seemed strange coming from someone so young._

"_In chess?" Waverly asked._

"_And life," Ianto answered. "We turned left at a junction and in another existence we turn right and in another we stop and go no further." _

"_Alternative realities," the older man stated, watching a Mars Bar wrapper curl with the breeze. _

_Ianto pulled out the limp cheese from the clutch of the bread, tossing it to the gulls to fight over. "Yes." He gazed at them for a moment, hesitating on that pivotal second. "My mother crossed that divide."_

_Waverly did not respond, instead he only stretched out his leg, trying to ease the stiffness in his dodgy knee. He waited. _

_The soft breeze shook the rickety structures, their corroded metal banging out a dying medley. "She was born in this reality and died in another." The gulls tore at the cheese, splitting it between their greedy beaks. "She travelled with him, like you did."_

_There was no need to expand on the 'him'._

_Ianto looked at his own bite mark in the roll. He sighed. "But it has yet to happen; the rift took me back into her past."_

"_She's from the future?" the older man asked._

_Ianto remained downcast. "Not distant, she's alive now only she's three years old." He looked up, picking at the bread._

"_And your father?" _

_Ianto chewed on his roll before finding the right words to answer; in the end he chose just three. "He's the Doctor." The boy looked at him. _

"_Dear god," Waverly had whispered as Ianto's declaration drowned out the construction noise in a rush of air._

"_Not quite," the boy said with a smirk. _

_Waverly reached across and cuffed his head playfully. "Well, well," was all he could muster._

_Luckily Ianto rescued his inability to form a proper sentence. "I've a letter for him, from her, but…"_

"_They haven't met yet," the older man finished with a soft smile._

_Ianto nodded. "I sort of thought I could wait it out but, Torchwood, they're going to move me, send me away…"_

_Waverly rubbed his knee, looking across at the muddy basin. "I know," he replied kindly, turning to meet the boy's stare. "Ianto…" he swallowed, "…I have a sister in Newport, they have one child, my niece, a girl, a few years older than you, they had wanted more but were unable…" He let his eyes rest on the line of water in the distance. "He's a tailor, her husband, a good one, set up his own business; it's doing well, Jones is his name, Delwyn Jones, so you wouldn't have to change…"_

"_You're rambling," Ianto reminded him._

"_Ah yes, quiet so. Habit you know. They're decent people, Ianto…"_

_The boy smiled. "Like you."_

_Waverly looked away. "I've pulled a few strings, told Torchwood I'll become your sponsor, talked to my sister too, well, she didn't take much persuading and Newport's not too far…"_

"_Thank you."_

"…_We'll have to spin some sort of yarn for your file, in case people go noising about, keep it brief…"_

"_Thank you," Ianto repeated a little louder._

_Waverly took the hint. "Well, old chap, no good having in friends in high places unless you can use them." They sat stiffly against one another, shoulder to shoulder, listening to the squabbling gulls and the strain of machinery. _

_Waverly swallowed nervously. "I, I could come and visit on my days off, if, if you'd like." He turned to the boy next to him._

_Ianto reached across and touched his hand. "I'd like that very much."_

_The older man let his other hand hover above the boy's before patting it. He looked back out across the bay. "Ianto, why me?" The boy looked at him. "I mean, he's travelled with so many, why did you choose me?" _

_Ianto smiled. "I had a friend called Sarah Jane, not yours but another version, she told me once that if there was ever one constant in a mix of universes it would be Harry Sullivan." _

Harry stood, leaving the brandy half drunk. They had become close, over the years, Ianto allowing himself to relax when they were together, not having to hide who he was in Harry's presence and for Harry, it was a chance at a paternal relationship that time and career had prevented.

He walked away from the table, needing to put some distance between himself and the device, his awkward gait betraying an old injury.

They had agreed to wait, that Harry was not to go storming in until… He rubbed his face, they both knew they were playing a risky game but then again, they were playing against a dangerous opponent. Ianto had been sure the Master was behind all of Lucy's enquires into Torchwood but he had no concrete evidence, just a feeling; it was Harry who told him to trust his gut and factor the Time Lord into their plan, just in case.

Harry had only asked for two conditions of Ianto when every detail had been finalised. The first was that Harkness was not to be told, Harry didn't like the man and he didn't trust him. The second was that if they were going to ask for help from Sarah Jane she should know the truth about Ianto's parentage.

Ianto had agreed. Sarah had known the boy from his visits to Harry during the school holidays, they became friendly, a small family even during those halcyon days of theme parks, museums and trips abroad, but in recent years they had all lost touch, apart from the occasional Christmas or birthday card.

Harry balled his hand into a fist, his nails imprinting their shape in the flesh of his palm as he heard Ianto cry out in pain.

_Just think of yourself as a pawn, unseen, moving steadily across the board, ignoring the other aspects of the battle to promote yourself to a knight._

Harry knew what the Master was capable of and now it was up to him to stop any means of the Time Lord furthering his plan, especially with the Archangel network still operational. He looked at the clock, it was ten-thirty. Harry flexed his fingers and opened the silver laptop on the writing desk, its screen bathing his face in blue light. He rubbed the pads of his fingers tentatively over the keys, far more use to pen and paper than an age of technology. The Instant Messenger window appeared on the screen - Sarah was waiting for him.

He began to type.

**A.W**: It's him old girl. 'M'. He's back.

Sarah Jane quickly replied.

**O.G**: And our friends?

**A.W**: He has them, including John Smith and control of TWC.

There was a slight pause in communication, the cursor blinking impatiently.

**O.G**: Does 'M' know?

**A.W**: Yes.

**O.G**: Why can't we go in now?

Harry closed his eyes, hearing Sarah Jane's voice in the script. He sighed and began to type again.

**A.W**: We stick to the plan.

**O.G**: Well, it's a bloody awful plan, what if you're both wrong? What if…?

**A.W**: I…

Harry's fingers froze. What if they were wrong? It had been an unspoken question between both him and Ianto. He pressed his eyelids together before staring at the cursor flashing to remind him of his stalled statement. Harry took the opportunity to reach for his drink. What if they were wrong?

**O.G**: I'm sorry this must be hard for you.

**A.W**: It is, but I know how the game's played, Old Girl, and I lost my innocence a long time ago.

**O.G**: But not your humanity.

**A.W**: No, never that.

Harry looked down at the device, letting the burn of the liquid quash the turmoil of his emotions. "No, never that," he repeated into the empty room.

He touched the keys again, remembering what Ianto had said in passing to the guard while they were waiting for the coffee. _"I wish I had one of those sonic devices, might make my job a lot easier."_

**A.W**: I've another favour to ask.

**O.G**: Ask.

**A.W**: I need your lipstick.

**O.G**: Any particular colour?

**A.W**: Ha, ha!

**O.G**: It's yours. How…?

**A.W**: I'll send someone. Watch your back, Old Girl, 'M' has plans for 'us', all of 'us'.

The journalist in her had a thousand and one questions to ask of him, but this was not the time.

**O.G**: I will.

Harry looked at the screen; he was never very proficient at good-byes. The laptop bleeped as Sarah sent another message.

**O.G**: When this is over…

Harry quietly tapped the keys.

**A.W**: Yes?

**O.G**: You and me, dinner, drinks?

Harry sat back in the chair, staring at the words before replying.

**A.W**: Are you asking me out on a date?

He could see Sarah Jane's smile in his mind.

**O.G**: Yes, I guess I am.

**A.W**: You always were a forward young miss.

**O.G**: And you were always such a stuff shirt, besides, I always considered myself as 'modern'.

**A.W**: Yes.

**O.G**: Yes?

**A.W**: Dinner and drinks.

**O.G**: Well, well, look who's finally made it to the 21st century.

**A.W**: Kicking and screaming, Old Girl, kicking and screaming.

There was another brief pause. Sarah Jane's fingers ghosted the keyboard, unaware that she was chewing on her lip.

**O.G**: It's been a while hasn't it?

The statement pulled at all those lost opportunities, those unwritten cards, those unmade telephone calls.

**A.W**: Yes.

She could almost hear him sigh as Harry reflected on the past.

**A.W**: We were heroes once.

Sarah smiled.

**O.G**: We still are.

**A.W**: Not with this bloody leg!

**O.G**: You'll always be, to me.

Harry smiled despite the circumstances.

**A.W**: Take care, Old Girl, see you when all this is over.

**O.G**: Yes, we've a lot to catch up on. Keep Junior safe and yourself – John always seems to somehow come out on top.

**A.W**: Will do.

He shut the laptop and sat down on the bed, taking his drink with him. There was a knock at the door. Harry stood. "It's not locked."

An unassuming man with adventurous eyes entered. "Sir, I was wondering if you needed anything."

Harry smiled. John Benton was still unbelievably fit for a man in his seventies and still working in the more shadowy corridors of UNIT. "Good timing as always, John."

The man straightened both his posture and dark suit showing years of military service. "Sir."

Harry flinched inwardly at the formal address. "Can I offer you a drink?" he asked, gesturing to the mini bar with his glass.

"No thank you, sir, another time." The refusal was friendly and polite.

Harry nodded. "Down to business, then," he said, placing his drink down. "Miss Smith is in room one, one, six, I need you to collect something from her for me. She's expecting you."

Benton gave a short dip of his head. "Very good, sir."

Harry picked a key card off the dresser. "I've also booked you into the adjoining room. I'd like you to keep an eye on Sarah Jane for me, keep her safe."

"I've come prepared, sir, should there be any trouble." Benton's eyes held the twinkle of a much younger man.

Harry smiled. "I knew I could count on you, John."

Benton looked at him directly. "Is it _him_, sir?"

Harry nodded distracted a moment by the sound coming from the listening device. John followed his gaze. "You shouldn't torture yourself like this, sir, why don't you let me take it?"

Harry shook his head, not turning away from the Ianto's cries. "No, no thank you, John, I need to…" His words trailed off as he picked up his drink, nursing it. Harry stared into the amber liquid waiting for the noise to die down.

Benton felt uncomfortable. "Sir?"

Harry looked up with a soft smile. "She, she asked me out for a drink when this is all over."

This time Benton smiled. "If you don't mind me saying, sir, it's about bloody time."

"Yes it is, isn't it?" He handed the other man the key card. "John, she doesn't know I'm here, I'd like to keep it that way."

"Of course, sir."


	15. I'm Walking Down The Line

**I'm walking down the line - 15**

Jack paced the cell, his large frame limiting the already restricted space. "Why aren't they here yet? What's taking them so long?"

"Who?" Martha asked.

Jack moved closer to her, resting one leg on the slab bench. "Ianto's UNIT _friends_," the last word was said with a hiss. "_Apparently_ they're monitoring the situation here. What the hell do they need? A written invitation?" He balled his hand up into a fist.

"Jack, you need to stay calm…" The captain looked at her, his eyes betraying the instability of his emotions.

She held his gaze for a moment, stressing her words carefully. "Ianto doesn't just put his trust in anyone. If he trusts this person then we should too."

Jack narrowed his eyes unable to hide his suspicion. "What do you know?"

Again her stare was levelled at him. "That** I** trust him, Jack, and whoever's out there."

"Based on what?"

Martha withdrew a little, back into a time that never was, those difficult memories etching their hardships around the youth of her eyes. Jack sensed this change and sat beside her. "Martha?" he asked softly.

She looked at him as if she'd forgotten he was there. "Jack, have you spoken to Ianto about _that_ year?"

Her eyes followed each tiny twitch of his face muscles as Jack swallowed against his own anguish and the nightmares of their direction. "No, not yet." He sat back, resting his head against the brickwork, considering her question. "Why, have you?" Martha focused on the holes in the perspex. "Martha?"

"He's not made of glass, Jack, that's all." She was sidestepping the inevitability of their conversation.

Jack sighed. "I know that." He looked towards her.

Martha was still lost in the throes of her memory. "He watched you die."

"He has to do that a lot." The humour was lost in the cramped space of their conversation.

"No." Martha shook her head, her gaze turning to him, her pupils large and dark. "Death Idol," she explained.

Jack flinched against the raw unbridled memory. "It was a compulsory broadcast." He tried to parry his own torment with a smile.

"No," Martha insisted again. "He had tickets, he was at the studio, he watched you burn, Jack, he watched…" She looked away, still hearing the captain's screams above the lick of flames; his death had purposely been drawn out.

Jack reached across and touched her gently on the shoulder as if she might shatter. Martha looked up. "It almost broke him, but he didn't want you to face it alone. It was three nights before he slept and the nightmares…"

She rubbed her hands up her arms, the cell turning chilly with the recollection. "It was hard on him, Jack." Martha's stare was fixed elsewhere.

"Hey, it was hard on all of us." Again his humour fell short.

Martha shook her head. "He watched you all die knowing there was nothing he could do as the Master systematically picked you all off, making public spectacles of your deaths…" She swallowed; some memories still left a bitter taste.

Martha looked down at her hands considering her next statement. "I know, Jack, I know who Ianto is."

Jack regarded her for a moment before answering. "Then you know if the Master had found him…"

She looked back. "It would have been over for **all** of us." She paused, holding his stare in her own. "It was never me." The words were spoken softly, just audible over the hollow sound of the old water pipes.

"I don't…" Jack began, registering the importance of her words on another level.

"I was just the decoy," Martha continued. She took a deep breath. "While the Master was focused on me, Ianto took the Doctor to those of us left. He travelled the world, blending into the night, keeping his emotions in check while the Toclafane weeded their way through the human race." She closed her eyes. "I, I did what I could, where I could but it was Ianto, Jack, it was him."

Jack pushed his head back on the cell wall. "I never knew."

"You were never meant too."

Jack lost himself in the noise from the pipes as they expanded. "You two became close?"

Martha didn't answer straight away. Jack turned his head. The simplicity of his question lost in the guilt of her gaze. He reached across and lifted her chin so their eyes met. Martha blinked back those hidden memories. "We had no one else." It was an ambiguous answer, one that Jack chose not to explore.

He lent forward and kissed the top of her head. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being there."

Martha rested her arms on her legs, clasping her hands together. "Do you love him, Jack?"

The captain sighed against the weight of the question. "It's complicated."

She looked disappointed. "No, no it's not. We only make it complicated."

Jack stood and walked to the Plexiglas, touching the barrier with a spread of his fingertips. "I would swap places without a moment's hesitation." His breath clouded the glass. "I know the cruelty he's capable of."

For a moment the captain looked lost, his frame slight in the maelstrom of his emotions. He ran his thumb through the mist caught on the acrylic making meaningless patterns in his reflection. He turned his head slightly over one shoulder to talk directly to Martha. "There was once a philosopher called Mithian Wartha who said: 'love is like the touch of chiffon from a moonbeam that we all try to catch and hold onto. It has but a moment to shine and the night is more radiant because of it. But when it is gone, darkness ensues and we loose so much of ourselves to the shadows of an unlit path'."

Martha stood. "Then shouldn't we grab it and hold onto it while we can?"

Jack turned back to his own gaze in the acrylic. "Yes, but Wartha spoke those words after the loss of love, saying that his heart was cleaved beyond repair and that his eyes could only see the misery held in the darkness." He placed his hands in his pockets and toe-poked the seam where the wall met the floor. "For me, the clouds always gather on the horizon waiting to extinguish the light."

---------------------------------

Ianto was coasting in the ether, unsure whether to trust he was actually unconscious in his own mind. Lights danced like graceful fireflies around him, kissing his skin with a flicker of past memories; memories that were not all his own.

"It's a pool of our joint memories, you, me, the TARDIS." The Doctor stretched out his fingers and touched one of the bouncing orbs. It expanded with a flash of light. "_He used to be a friend of mine once... a very good friend. In fact, you might almost say we were at school together." _ The words were spoken with a slight lisp, the image too distorted to see in the flare of its moment.

Ianto watched as it burst, finding his feet in the narrative cloud. "Can the Master…?"

The Doctor observed his son through the perpetual motion of lights. "Not yet, but as we weaken our barriers will fall. At the moment, this is a safe haven for us all." He paused; Ianto looked weary in the stark light. "How are you holding up?"

Ianto watched one of the orbs hovered above his open palm. He smiled at the question. "Neil's an apt pupil." The sphere stretched slightly revealing a frozen moon, an ethereal jewel against the dark of space.

"Mablyn," the Doctor whispered, remembering affectionately the time he had spent there as a young boy. He looked back at Ianto. "Neil?"

Ianto followed the matchless beauty of the moon as it drifted upwards to join the stream of lights flashing above them. He let his mind bask for a moment in the warmth of the Doctor's childhood memory. "Neil Down, I worked with him at Canary Wharf, the Master left me in his _care_." He briefly held his ribs, touching some injury not visible in this shared consciousness. "Apparently Neil doesn't like me very much, and is quite good at using pain to convey this resentment, but I guess you already know that."

The Doctor nodded, he had felt all of Ianto's suffering in the empathy of their connection. "How long have we got?" There was no need for the young man to elucidate.

The Doctor blew out his cheeks. "He has to wait for the TARDIS's power to mature and stabilize so he can create and control a bubble in time using both energy from the rift to fuel the connection and Jack's Vortex Manipulator to capture a precise moment and prolong contact with that event…"

"But she's not ready yet, plus he's using her to keep you in the void."

The Time Lord nodded, quirking an eyebrow affectionately. "He would have to break that connection before he begins."

"He can't use your TARDIS?"

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "She knows better than to change actual events…"

"There's a failsafe?" Ianto asked.

"More a moral responsibility," his father conceded. "It becomes part of their fabric as they grow."

"But it can be bypassed?"

"It's harder the older they get, but when they're young they're more susceptible to being manipulated. An older TARDIS will fight against outside influence or control, sacrificing themselves if they believe the fabric of time is in danger."

Ianto closed his eyes. "Will he wait?"

The Doctor shrugged. "His mind's caught up in revenge."

"But if he uses her for reprisals against your companions, surely that will only weaken her further?"

"Yes it will, but he's nothing if not resourceful, he'll find a way to achieve both."

Two Toclafane broke from one of the spheres, shooting at a crowd of screaming people on a dusty street. "At what cost?" Ianto said quietly.

The Doctor looked on the carnage and then to his son lost in that broken moment in time. "I will find a way to stop him."

Ianto watched the memory fade. "But there's always a cost."

The Doctor looked at his trainers, hands shoved in pockets. "Yes." His gaze drifted back to Ianto.

"Who's Sanna?" The name caught the Doctor off guard; it had been so long since he'd heard it spoken out loud. Ianto felt his flash of pain, the balled up excess of emotion that leapt and bounded in every heartbeat and for a brief moment he saw the _man_ behind the façade.

The Doctor became unfocussed. "She was my wife."

One of the lights expanded as a silhouette became visible in the burn of its core. It walked toward them, dragging at the vapour that encircled its form to give its features clarity.

Sanna.

She walked toward the Doctor, age encumbering her slight frame, her shoulders slumped slightly. She reached out to touch his face but the Doctor inadvertently took a step back. "Please," she beseeched, her eyes conveying something Ianto could not read.

The Doctor closed his eyes, the reach of her fingertips captivating that lost part of his being, drawing the weight of his soul to the surface.

"He killed her." Ianto's statement brushed the moment.

The Doctor shook his head. "No, I killed her long before he wielded knife." His voice was barely audible.

There was something in the declaration, something not said that Ianto sensed in the trail of its echo. "Why?"

The Doctor let his fingers touch the film of Sanna's skin; it was no more than air, a wisp of something real that had long since disappeared. He looked toward Ianto, his mask stripped bare. "For the greater good." Both the Doctor and Sanna spoke the words in unison, the simple statement holding so much grief and heartache, so much guilt.

The Doctor looked to the floor as the image of Sanna faded into the background. He lifted his gaze, choosing his words carefully. "Ianto, what are you hiding?" The young man looked away into the drift of memories.

"You've buried something." The Doctor's tone was soft. "I can feel it, a hole in your memories, a gap within you."

Ianto avoided eye contact, inadvertently straightening his tie. The Doctor sighed, watching him smooth the flare of material in an almost ritualistic way. "He'll find out eventually, just as I did," he warned.

Ianto faced his father, his fingers tensing slightly around the Full Windsor knot. "Maybe…" He stopped, feeling the slow creep of pain seep through his senses as the interrogation room gradually developed around him.

The Doctor gripped his son's arm as their connection was ripped apart. "I will get you out of this," he repeated once more.

Ianto smiled at his father as consciousness began to dawn on him with its ever painful horizon. "I know," he said softly.

The young man disappeared into the reality of the world and the Doctor was left in the host of mixed memories. He turned to disappear back into the tunnel of his own being when the juvenile TARDIS approached him through the blend of their barriers. "_And you, my father, there on the sad height, curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light."_

She smiled briefly with the sadness of the dying before she too left him alone.


	16. That Divides Me Somewhere In My Mind

**That Divides Me Somewhere In My Mind - 16**

It was morning. Ianto was almost sure, his whole self crying out for coffee. Morning coffee: dark, rich, black. He closed his eyes, licking his dry lips but tasting only blood. He tried to relax back into the chair but his arms had been retied behind him at an awkward angle and the wooden slats were abusing his back with their uncompromising sturdiness.

Perhaps he should think about replacing the chairs down here?

He shuddered. He was cold. The room had no heating, just the seep of damp turning the lower walls a pale green and an icy draught from both the slatted vent and barred window. Daylight pushed its way through the grate of the iron framework that covered the half round opening, creating a fan of chequered shadows across both the floor and walls. But this gentle dawn was overwhelmed by the intense brightness of the stark overhead light and its blinding reflection in the slope of the mirror above him.

He shied away from its glare, his gaze resting on the floor, its colour now faded in the filth and dust. Red - red to hide the blood.

Ianto shivered again. His sleeves were rolled up, showing a variety of angry cigar burns on the pale flesh of his lower arms. Montecristo. The word revolved in thorny twists in his mind, its barbarous echo synonymous with the deepening scolds on his skin that the cold was fingering with mischievous intent. Montercristo. Neil had commented, in nauseating plumbs of thick smoke, that he preferred the slightly tangy taste of a Montecristo. He then took it from his mouth, rotating it in his hand while watching the embers burn. "Did you know," he had said, "some people believe a solid tower of ash is a mark of a good cigar?" He blew softly on the end making the tobacco leaf flare. "But a tower of ash is of no use here." He had smiled as he brought the smouldering tip in contact with his Ianto's skin.

Ianto coughed. It was a hacking sound. The cigar's pungent flavour still lingering, mixing itself with a century's worth of stale odours that permeated the stone; a century's worth of sanctified torture all in the name of Torchwood.

_For the greater good_. The statement invaded his thoughts, its echo washed in grief.

Ianto looked down at his exposed chest, remembering how Neil's long fingers had slowly undone each, tiny, pearlesque button of his shirt, making the task of undressing almost an art form. His fingertips had strayed, brushing over Ianto's skin, trembling slightly as they traced the line of the young man's breastbone, following it to his abdomen. There, they had paused for a moment, mind and body at an impasse, the internal dilemma playing across Neil's furrowed forehead as he stared at Ianto's belt buckle. He had let his fingers slide over the sturdy join of metal and leather and licked his lips; an unguarded response which had unnerved Ianto, making him flinched away from the other man's proximity. Neil had recoiled immediately, Ianto's reaction bringing him back from the brink of budding exploration and emergent desire. He had turned quickly away, his lack of control leaving him both humiliated and perplexed until he had put some distance between them both. Only then had he looked back at Ianto, his eyes glancing over the other man's near nakedness with disgust and revulsion.

He strode forward, his anger apparent as he struck the young man across the face, blaming him for his obvious transgression. He then meticulously wiped his hand on his pristine handkerchief until he was sure all contact with the other man had been eradicated.

Ianto let his tongue explore the split in his lip, closing his eyes against the sting from the wound. He searched for refuge again, that place away from the raw pain and mental anguish of his body and mind, but all he managed to find was the darkness of his own thoughts and the electronic hum from Gwen's CD player Neil had brought down to mask his suffering or to add to it.

Changes by Bowie. The hiss of heat on skin. Neil's rasping inflection cheapening the lyrics.

Devil Gate Drive by Susie Quatro. Neil had moved the scorch of the cigar to his hands, burning the soft flesh between his fingers in time to the music. His closeness and the protracted glance of his breath as he sang along began to undermine Ianto's inner stability.

'_So come alive'. Hiss. 'Come alive.' Hiss..._

And finally, one played on constant repeat, Love Today by Mika, the song that was now imbedded in Ianto's subconscious to the tune of his suffering. Neil had applied lipstick for this one and brought his own interpretive dance moves as he shimmied around the room preparing Ianto for the anguish to come. In any other world, it would have been almost comical - if Ianto hadn't been electrocuted, if his muscles weren't contracting against the current to the lyrics of, '_Momma, momma papa, shock shock me. Shock shock me, shock shock.'_

Ianto looked down at neat circles of bubbling skin where the electrodes had been placed on his body. Neil had found a device in the archives, a Victorian electro therapy machine, used to cure all manner of ills from coughs to bubonic plague. Of course Torchwood had modified it, back then, integrating it with _acquired_ alien technology to control the voltage and amperage so it could be used with better effect and precision. Neil had also wet Ianto's skin first by throwing a cafeteria of cold water over him. He hadn't cleaned it before hand, the coffee grounds washing over Ianto's upper body and soaking into the wool of his trousers. Strangely, Ianto had recognised the aroma, Monsoon Malabar, an Indian espresso he was trialling that both Owen and Gwen had found too strong for their taste. Ianto had still made Owen drink most of it though, after he had found the internal organs of some gelatinous organism in _his_ Prestcold refrigerator. Three shots not one and half for the breach in protocol, Harper had been like a twitchy meerkat on acid for the whole week until Jack begged Ianto to stop.

Jack. Harry had been right, of course, not to let Jack in on their plan. It wasn't that Ianto didn't trust the captain, it was… Secrets and lies. The foundations of their relationship.

A spider floated on its invisible thread near the doorway. Female by its size, plump and hairy, not one of those fragile, almost skeletal arachnids you see under the stairs or in the corners of cupboards. It swung for a moment, unaware it was being watched, its momentum taking it lower and lower until it reached the dust of the rose coloured floor. It hid against the damp trim of the skirting board, waiting, letting the air current stimulate the sensory hairs on its body and legs.

Ianto's eyes never left the motionless creature as it camouflaged itself in the dark recesses of the shadows made by the room's sparse furnishings.

Click, click, click. Someone was ascending the stone staircase.

The spider reacted with lightening speed, those chemosensitive hairs picking up the scent of another predatorial creature. Lucy Cole, or rather, the Master in human form. It forgot all caution and began to scuttle back up the wall. Ianto twisted to see Lucy's focus was on the spider's bid for life. She tipped the water from the glass she was carrying and placed it quickly over the fleeing arachnid. "You don't mind?" she asked, referring to the loss of the liquid. "It's a beauty don't you think? I wonder what it finds to eat down in these subterranean depths."

Lucy pulled out her laser screwdriver, creating a small force field around the receptacle and lifted it onto the table. The spider fought against the confines of the glass, its front legs pushing at its transparent prison for some weakness in its make-up. "I wonder how long it can last without oxygen?" Lucy tipped the rim of the glass; the spider sensed the movement and headed for the opening only to have it closed again.

She sat down on the edge of the table and looked at Ianto. "I'm sorry, where are my manners? How are you doing today, Mr Jones?"

Ianto swallowed. "I've been better."

She studied him, her face suddenly warping into that of Harold Saxon's, her body filling the gentleman's suit she was wearing. "Ah, now, I knew you'd appreciate the cut of a well tailored suit. Gieves and Hawke, bespoke, sent them my old measurements." Saxon disappeared and Lucy was left fingering the material of the lapels. "The wool has three different shades of black thread woven to create a stripe effect. Do you like it?" She jumped off the table and turned to her reflection in the overhead mirror, straightening her tie.

"It's a little on the big side," Ianto answered honestly.

The Master smiled at him for a fleeting second and then was gone. "Not for long. Soon I will emerge from this shell."

Ianto held eye contact. "And what about the real Lucy Cole?"

"Oh, come on, Mr Jones, what use is she to anyone except as a vessel for my return?" Lucy placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it a little too hard.

"She had a life, a future…" Ianto began.

Her nails dented his skin as her grip stiffened against him, cutting him off. "You know, you sound a lot like your father, I'd work on that if I were you, annoying me would be bad, Mr Jones."

"I'll bear that in mind."

"Good. Very well, let's call Lucy's demise Kismet…"

"Let's call it murder…"

Lucy yanked his head back by his hair, pulling the chair with him; it rocked on its back two legs. "There you go again, Mr Jones, making me angry. You know Neil's torturing methods are a little _routine_, perhaps I should take over, give him a _master _class in my own techniques." She leaned closer to his ear. "You and I both know there are other, more vulnerable places to place those electrodes." She reached down with her free hand and squeezed his balls. "I think the freak enjoyed our time together, will you?"

She twisted her grip making Ianto cry out, his lip splitting once more. "Lucy is nothing but a pretty diversion, created and fashion by me to play with and use as I see fit." Again the Master's features flashed across her face. "And when I have finished draining her life force and devouring her from within, I will have to find a new toy to distract me." He smiled before vanishing back under Lucy's skin. "The freak? Dr Martha Jones? Team Torchwood? The whole population of the Earth? I've so many to choose from; it's just great being me."

Lucy released her crushing hold and let go of his hair, pushing his head forward to stop him toppling backwards to the floor. Ianto righted himself, thankful that the chair was soundly made. "Won't people notice Lucy's disappearance?"

Lucy moved back to the spider, tapping the top of the glass. The creature backed away from the sound, taking up a defensive position. "Don't worry, Ianto. Can I call you Ianto? We are of the same ilk after all." The young man remained silent. "Good, well Ianto, I have a plan."

Ianto looked up. "Care to share?"

"Not just yet." Lucy admired herself in the mirror, touching the skin of her face. "Not just yet." The statement was whispered to her reflection.

She turned her attention back to the spider, lifting the glass completely from the confined creature. It took just a second to register its freedom before it made a dash across the table. Lucy brought the glass down on it again.

She looked at Ianto. "We don't have to be enemies."

Ianto shifted uncomfortably in the chair. "Really?"

Lucy smiled dangerously. "Really. You and I have a lot in common, Ianto." She crouched down in front of him, taking out the handkerchief in her breast pocket and pressing it to his lip.

"We do?" His words were muffled by the cloth.

"Yes, you've had to hide who you really are for most of your life; it was the same for me." She pressed a little harder, drawing the blood from his lip, staining the white, crimson. "Did you think it was easy for me growing up under the moral code of the Time Lords, knowing I was different, knowing I was better than them."

Ianto jerked away from her administration. "I'm no better…" He cried out in pain as Lucy pressed two fingers into the blistering rings on his chest, stopping him mid-sentence.

"Sssh, let me finish," she whispered gently, as the cushioning fluid burst from the open wounds.

Lucy removed the pressure, wiping her hand on the handkerchief as Ianto slumped forward, trying to catch each ragged breath. "You should know by now I don't like to be interrupted." She pulled him back by his hair and began feeding the large square of cloth into his open mouth as if it was a tasty titbit. She pressed the final corner against his bleeding lip before tucking it inside his cheek.

"There," she said quietly, kissing his forehead. "Now I can continue." She let go of his hair and took his face between her hands, making him look into her eyes. "You _are _better than them, Ianto. You're part Time Lord, a superior being." For a brief second the Master stared back at him.

"You're a survivor, Ianto, just like me." Lucy's breath glanced off his cheek as her fingers ran down the outline of his shoulder to the roll of his sleeve. "The Slitheen took your mother, but not you." Her thumb bore down on the first heated imprint left by the cigar. Ianto gave a stifled cry.

"You survived against the odds at Canary Wharf…" She moved the push of her touch down to the next bubble of violated skin; Ianto flinched away, his back and bound hands pressing into the solid slats of the oak chair. "… Eight hundred and twenty three people turned up for work that day, only twenty-seven survived and you did nothing to advert the carnage. I have to admire your balls, Ianto Jones."

Lucy let her nails rake over the scolded skin, opening the blisters that had already formed. "And then you managed to evade both myself and the Toclafane. Oh, don't worry, I'm not offended, you have my undying respect, after all, it takes a lot of self-preservation for a man to watch his colleagues perish in the most miserable of ways and do nothing." She stood away from him. "I don't blame you, a useless lot, your Torchwood buddies, not worth risking your life over."

Ianto met her stare, his eyes full of anger and loathing, his chest rising and falling with emotion. The Master smiled back at him, his features covering those of Lucy's. He moved back to the table and lifted the glass. The spider immediately sprang to life, scuttling across the table, tasting the edge of freedom. It almost made it, its small and fragile life almost tipped the balance in its favour, but fate can be a bitch sometimes, especially when the Master holds a finger on the scale. He brought his fist down on top of it, smashing it and grinding its body into the wood. "We're alike, you and I, Ianto Jones."

The Master lifted his hand; the spider's squashed remains imprinted on the skin, one dangling leg still valiantly twitching on impulse. He plucked it from the pulverised body and flicked it into the air, smiling at Ianto. "Now where did I put my handkerchief?"

The Master's body juddered and switched. Lucy's long fingers reached into Ianto's mouth to retrieve the damp cloth. She pulled it gently past his parted lips, watching as he swallowed rapidly in a bid to moisten his dry mouth and throat. "I'm nothing like you," he answered finally, the words parched and sticking to his waterless mouth.

Lucy wiped the dead arachnid from her skin, her eyes never leaving his. "Oh, but you are, Ianto. There's a darkness in you, a deep pit of black emotions that you try to suppress because you are afraid of their reach." She dropped the handkerchief on the floor so her fingers could trace the outer shell of his ear; Ianto shuddered at the contact. "I can feel them within you, their hollow echo mirroring each heartbeat, the seep of their cold indifference flowing through your veins."

She sat on his lap as her lips pressed against his lobule. "Let me help you embrace them, Ianto, let me guide you to find the balance within yourself, the strength that's just waiting to be unleashed…"

Ianto tried to turn away. "Never."

Lucy laughed, the sound tickling the sensitive hairs of his ear. "I'm not the only one who sees it, he can see it too because it's apart of him."

Ianto looked at her. "What? You don't think the Doctor has a dark side?" Lucy answered his unspoken question. "Where do you think yours comes from?"

He went to reply but Lucy put her hand across his mouth. "Rose? The TARDIS? No, Ianto Jones, it's as much apart of him as it is you." She wiped her thumb across his lips, causing the wound to openly bleed freely again; Lucy suckled the spill of blood.

"He accepted it once," she whispered lightly against his cheek, "welcomed it even, because it was easier than feeling those dismal emotions that play on his human side."

Ianto shook his head; Lucy stilled it between the clasp of her two hands. Her lips travelled in cold kisses back to his ear to softly speak her poisoned words. "Why do you think such an arrogant bastard like the Doctor would stoop so low as to help those pathetic races that deserve annihilation?"

She wrapped her arm over his shoulder while the fingertips of her other hand lightly walked down his abused chest. "Atonement, Ianto, reparation for all his wrongs." Lucy's touch moved to his groin; Ianto tried to shrink away from her intrusive caress. She nuzzled his ear as she began to manipulate him through the wool of his trousers. "I can see you don't believe me. Then I'll have to show you."

Lucy turned the ring to shine into his face. "Look to the dance of light, Ianto Jones, and let me show you your father."


	17. On The Border Line

**On The Border Line – 17**

Mirrors. Ianto was in a maze of mirrors, separated by dark, ornate gothic columns, endless black floors and the oppressive shadows of restless memories above. These recollections flew like troubled spirits, haunting the labyrinth of glass, making the reflective surfaces buckle with the impact of their extreme emotions, causing the kaleidoscope of images, the many regenerations of the Doctor, to warp.

Voices whispered on their ebb and flow, past voices, full of anguish and ordeal.

"_Too late, Peri. Going soon. Time to say goodbye."_

"_We must save Adric, there's so little time!"_

"_She didn't understand, she couldn't understand, she wanted to save our lives, and perhaps the lives of all the other beings in the solar system. I hope she's found her perfection. Oh, well I shall always remember her as one of the daughters' of the gods. Yes, as one of the daughters'."_

"_Don't go to far away, will you, and if you do, come back and see us some times."_

"_I've got the TARDIS. Same old life. The last of the Time Lords." _

"_Rest of my life. Travelling. In the TARDIS. The Doctor Donna. Oh, my, I can't go back. Don't make me go back. Doctor, please! Please don't make me go back."_

"_Regenerate, just regenerate, please, please! Just regenerate, come on."_

Then the screams started, echoing around the chamber as each mirror flashed with the violence of death and destruction.

"All that suffering leaves its mark on a man, especially one who is burdened with misfortune and misery."Harold Saxon loomed behind him. "I know what stains his soul, just as you do, Ianto: the blood of all those he's sacrificed, all those he's left behind."

Ianto did not answer as he watched the shifting patterns of mortality flare in each of the mirrors.

The Master gestured to the changing images. "He has so many faces to hide behind, so many personalities…" he paused for effect, "…but we both know death leaves its residue to blemish our souls with darkness." The mirrors began to spin in a blur of contrasting colours. "Let's look behind that mask, Ianto, let me show you what face lies hidden."

The mirrors stopped and one image remained; that of the very first Doctor. "Ah," the Master said wistfully, "the bloom of youth. You ever notice the older he gets the younger he appears?" He pushed Ianto towards and through the reflection.

-------------------------------------

The wind was icy cold, its force slapped at Ianto's face and body as if it was trying to expel him from the tableaux of his father's mind. Above the sky was empty of light, no moon or stars to pinprick the blanket of smoke that stifled the resilience of the night. The wind whipped round him again, cutting and sharp across his skin, heralding the devastation below by carrying the scent of death as its warning. Ianto was no stranger to its stench; he had smelt it before, at Canary Wharf - fire and flesh, a barbeque of life.

His father stood on an overhang of rock overlooking the flames that consumed the settlement. Ianto studied him for a moment. He was younger than the old man seen as the 'first' Doctor by Torchwood, his hair shorter, thinning slightly against his forehead, but still holding onto its tawny colour - even if the grey that would follow was sweeping against the sides. His gaunt face was dancing with both the shadows and light of the blaze, but his expression was unchanging, it was as hard and unyielding as the solid stone under his feet. His eyes reflected this, their gaze holding no kindness, no sympathy - only their hue changed, alternating from a light chestnut to a glassy amber as he watched, fixated by the flames.

There was no sound, except the cackling laugh of the fire and the curt sigh of the wind. The screams were over, turned to dust to be gathered on the elements and lost on the footprints of others.

Ianto took a step forward, the soles of his shoes grating against the rock. The Doctor turned his head slightly but the incline was not directed at him, instead the Time Lord had picked up on movement from the gorse-like brushes that followed the cliff top.

"Stop!" he yelled, turning back to the bonfire of wood and canvas. "Show yourselves."

There was snap and the sound of hushed voices. "Do you wish the dancing bane of the wood to consume you in its belly too?" He turned, aiming his sonic screwdriver at the coarse bush.

A face appeared from the thicket, blooded from the thick spines of the plant. "Lord of time." The man gave a nervous bow of his head as he cautiously approached the Doctor. "Please," he beseeched, "spare us." He gestured back to the trembling undergrowth and the low whispers of fearful voices that lay within.

The Doctor regarded him, his stare full of contempt. "Why, when you trade in death?"

The man took another step. He was small and crooked, his back bent from a curvature in his spine. His face was not old but weathered, its thick lines showing a life spent with the elements, his skin unwashed and dark with grime.

"Lord of time, the sky hunt of the fire cup and ice goddess brings us many inhospitable climes and our seed beds are unfruitful for much of their fray. So our need is to trade as it was for the shoes of our father's and the long past dead."

The man stooped again and Ianto noticed the back of his head was closely shaved into the neck, offsetting the gold bound and braided dreadlocks that decorated the top of his dark head.

"But you trade in weaponry…" No emotion played across the Doctor's face.

"We trade in whatever harvest is fruitful and what will fill our coffers and bellies," the man reasoned. "Our past father's travelled beyond our floating rock and found that the no men Kraki seek the many ways of the sword and pay high goods for this. So, we too follow in these footfalls because their path is worn and good and our past father's words do not sting those whose hand was shaken." He spread his own hands and gave an accomplished smile, showing his broad yellow teeth had been filed into points.

The Doctor stepped closer, never lowering his aim, his tall frame towering over that of the Kraki. "Your bellies grow fat on others' suffering."

Again the man tried to appease the Doctor with open hands, the crude rings on his stubby fingers catching the fire below. "Lord of time, we do not use what we sell, once the hands have been placated the trade is done and the goods are for the duel heads of the no men Kraki." He paused, trying to find the right word. "That is for their _conscience._ We only seek what they required, what is beyond their own boundaries because our words are goodly spoken."

Again the Doctor's tone was stern and reproachful. "You provide death."

The Kraki kept his eyes downcast but Ianto could tell he was thinking fast. "Lord of time, maybe we can make an agreement, maybe your hand can be facilitated and dealt." The man held out a rough palm in the Doctor's direction. "Our bartered words are good and fulfilled."

The Doctor turned back to the blaze. "But I am trading; death with death."

"But there is no gain to be had," the man replied in confusion.

"Revenge is my reward. Your people were instrumental in taking a life from me, so now I take it back with interest." The Doctor's eyes sparked with fury. "Just as I have done with the Wenn, the Tuell and the Bray."

"Then surely we have settled this blood debt too, for you have taken much more from us. You know our ways; you know how we consume the bone bags of our brethren so that the long ago can be within us." The Kraki looked at the tower of smoke. "You have taken the sweetmeat of their memories, turned them into the veil of dust to darken the overhead sea; they will be lost forever and we will not think of them again. Surely adequate payment has been achieved for just one life."

The Kraki held out his hand to bond an agreement. The Doctor looked at it, his face masked. "No, it is never enough." A blinding light engulfed the small man from the sonic screwdriver; the Kraki went up in flames.

The image froze. "Ah, the folly of youth," the Master stood next to Ianto regarding the scene.

"This doesn't make sense, he would never…" Ianto turned to him. "You've altered it in some way."

"Oh, yes, the big bad Master, the villain of the piece." He walked to the still figure of the burning Kraki. "Only I'm not the villain here." He pushed his hand into the silent flames, studying it through the deep amber. "Your loyalty to a man you hardly know does you credit, Ianto, but this happened, these are his memories, uncorrupted by me, but you know that, don't you? You can feel him, this place, this time; you know there are no lies here." He removed his hand and stood by the Doctor.

Ianto shook his head. "No, he's not…"

The Master laughed. "A cold bloodied murderer?" He circled the motionless Time Lord. "Oh come on, it's in us all, Ianto, that dark despicable creature we tried to hide from those we know, those we…" he smiled at the Welshman, "…love."

He placed his hands on the Doctor's shoulders. "But you scratch the surface and there it is, our true animal, untamed and feral, buried under all the subterfuge of morality. And isn't wonderful to behold." He ran his fingers down the other Time Lord's cheek.

"Look at him, Ianto, the man behind the mask of the Doctor - this is what you've wanted all along, this is the mettle you're made from, this is the foundation of your being."

Ianto looked away; the Master flicked the Doctor's ear. "Hypocrite," he whispered lightly.

"You know, this is within you too." The Master returned his attention to Ianto. "Those dark thoughts, whispering." He walked back over to the young man and touched him gently on the shoulder. "Listen to them, let them dance as freely as the flames that surround the Kraki, liberate their ideas and release yourself from the shackles of your inner turmoil."

"No." Ianto felt tired, his head was swimming, he could hardly think, his mind crowded.

"Are you afraid - afraid that this is_ what_ you really are?" The Master moved behind him and drew him into the warmth of his own body. "I can help you, Ianto," he whispered, almost biting the young man's ear. "I can help you explore the darkness, show you how to be true to yourself, guide you to your full potential." He moved the young man closer, his lips touching Ianto's ear. "I can make you a god amongst men and together we will build a formidable new empire."

Ianto's head began throb. He was exhausted. "I can't…"

"Sssh, dear boy, don't think, reach out and touch the moment, surrender yourself as your father did before you." The Master placed a hand on his eyes closing down the lids. "Embrace it, Ianto, let it take you further to what you should be."

Ianto felt the last vestiges of resistance leave him as he yielded, searching not his own but his father's subconscious; it was empty. There was nothing, no emotions, no feelings; the Doctor was dead inside.

Something reached out to him from the depths. A voice, a lightness, a ghost touched his shoulder. Ianto turned and the young TARDIS sought his gaze.

"The stones search for the truth that lies hidden in us all. Beware, Ianto Jones, for the truth can be rearranged to suit its purveyor and the Master controls all that you see." She floated around him; her movements flowing with his thoughts.

"But this happened," Ianto stated as she curled like chiffon around him, laying a feather-light hand on his chest; Ianto felt comfort from the contact.

"Yes, but it is not the whole truth." The fluid touch of her fingertips covered his heart, its beat sending minute pulses of light under her own skin.

"But he murdered these people."

She rested her head against his upper body and closed her eyes. "Yes and others beside, but this is not your father, Ianto Jones, this is what he was for a brief and tempestuous moment – an empty vessel, devoid of feeling."

He tipped her chin up. "It doesn't make it right."

"No, but it does make him the man he is." She drifted away from him and faded into the returning landscape. "Seek the whole truth, Ianto Jones, you have it within you and with it will come understanding."

"We're not so different are we?" The Master's voice was close to his ear. "The Doctor and myself?"

"Why?" Ianto pushed away from the embrace.

"What?"

"Why did he do this?" He turned into the Master's stare.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes," Ianto replied, "yes it does, to me."

The Master laughed. "Maybe there isn't a reason. Maybe it's in his nature as it's in yours." He held Ianto's gaze. "Four hundred and sixty seven dead, the rest missing."

"The battle at Canary Wharf had to happen, I - I couldn't alter the past…" Ianto faltered, the numbers pounding in his head.

"And yet you still beat yourself up with the guilt of that decision." There was a smugness in the Master's tone; Ianto turned and walked away to the still form of the Doctor.

"There is more to this." He looked to the Master. "This is only part of the truth."

"Ah, so murder has to be justified to make it acceptable." He clicked his fingers. "Guess that's where I've been going wrong!"

The Master moved towards the young man, looking down on the frozen blaze. "All those women and children must have deserved such punishment, after all, this is the Doctor, savour of countless races, he must have had a good reason to commit genocide."

Ianto touched the dormant image of his father and opened his mind. "I want to know more."

"What are you searching for?" the Master demanded angrily. "I've shown you all that there is to know. This is a motiveless attack by a man driven with a need for bloodlust."

"Is it? Well you don't mind if I don't take your word for it." Ianto delved into the memories, pulling at the edges surrounded them.

"Don't test me, boy, you don't have the strength."

Ianto felt the connection strengthen as the events surrounding this time began to unravel and pull towards him. Slowly the memory began to move again.

"No!" The Master clawed back some control, making the image around them halt. He grabbed at Ianto, catching his shirt sleeve, causing the material to rip. "You want to see more? Then let me help you comprehend the death dealt by your father?" He shoved him into flames encasing the Kraki and Ianto became one with the small man.

The memory began to shift around him once more and the sharp sting of flames bit at his skin, tearing the layers apart, melting it from the bone and blackening what was left.

"_This isn't real,'_" Ianto screamed internally through the pain. _"The Master's playing in my head, projecting this reality, this suffering, overlaying his experience…"_

He felt his blood begin to boil with the extreme heat, the fat hissing and scolding. _"This isn't real."_

His own body became a candle, part liquefying to fuel the hunger of the fire, smoke from his burning flesh choking him. _"I must fight this, I must… _ _'Do not go gentle into that good night'_."

"_This. Isn't. Real!" _ Ianto fought hard, pulling on his strengths, trying to expel the Master's control from his mind. The flames slowly retreated, reversing their destruction as the scenario rewound itself and Ianto fell to the floor exhausted but still feeling the scolding lips of fire on his skin. His fingers dug into the rocky soil, scraping against the blistering pain that still engulfed his body.

"'_Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight, blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay. Rage, rage against the dying of the light'." _ The Master voice echoed around him, taunting him in peaks and troughs of mocking laughter.

Ianto's eyes were watering with stinging tears; his skin felt taut and wafer thin across his body, his lungs, molested and raw with smoke. _"Breathe,'_" he told himself. _"Concentrate."_

The Master's voice began fade and all Ianto could hear was the struggle for his own breath.

He gasped.

He panicked.

He'd forgotten how to breathe, the dominance of the Master's illusion still hampering his mind, fingering any rational thoughts.

He couldn't breathe. He didn't know how, how to breathe.

His heart felt inadequate, battling in his chest, to small and shrivelled to pump enough blood and his lungs felt blighted and weak, unable to draw sufficient oxygen.

He couldn't breathe.

"Concentrate, Ianto," a voice cried in his thoughts. "Come on, it's not real. Remember: this is not real."

He tried again, heart and lungs out of sync, labouring against the rudiments of just drawing a ragged breath. His body constricted, turning against him, trying to suffocate his efforts.

"Fight, Ianto, breathe." A hand reached for his own, its fingers lacing with his, squeezing him tightly as if their sheer force could strengthen him. "Come on, you can do this, don't give him the satisfaction."

Ianto gripped the offered hand. "Fight, Ianto," the voice commanded desperately. "Please." The last word lamented as a softly spoken whisper.

Ianto screamed violently, his mind tearing through the fabricated web of the Master's trickery. He sat bolt upright. "Doctor?"

The Time Lord pulled him closer into his chest until Ianto's breathing became steady and settled. "What…?"

"Sssh, give yourself a moment," the Doctor whispered over the top of his head, his lips just glancing off the other man's hair. "Just a moment," he repeated, closing his own eyes, wanting a little time.

"Am I dreaming?" Ianto's breath was warm through the Doctor's shirt, his voice heavy with fatigue.

"No," the Time Lord replied, letting him relax into his body. "I managed to find a small pocket away from the Master's intrusion. I won't be able to keep it open for long." He gently stroked his son's hair, as he had done once before to another… He withdrew his hand, fingers hovering above Ianto's head, the comparison of memory unnerving him a little.

Fear and paranoia crept into his thoughts; memories and demons from his past. He looked out into bleached landscape of their united minds as déjà-vu haunted his thoughts. "He asked you to join him, didn't he?" It came out sharper than the Doctor intended; another voice, another time.

Ianto immediately stiffened and shifted his weight back to look at his father. "Yes," he answered. "But that's no surprise is it?" He was wary, the Doctor's gaze conveying more than just a question.

The Time Lord didn't reply straight away, searching for the right words. "He can be very persuasive…"

"Yes, he can." Ianto's answer was vague, needing the Doctor to have faith in him.

"Ianto, I…"

"You're bleeding." The young man stood up, turning his back to his father.

The Doctor dabbed two fingers under his nose smearing them with blood. He looked down at the vivid colour coating his skin, his mind wandering for a moment before getting his feet. "I can handle him." Ianto asserted, handing his father a tissue from his pocket.

'_He's full of lies,' _ the voice screamed from the past, ploughing into the two men with the force of its statement. Only the Doctor recognised it as his own.

Ianto looked at his father; the Doctor looked away. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"Ianto…" The tissue became soaked with blood.

Again Ianto turned away. "I'm not a good father." The Doctor's words echoed around them, painful in their admission.

"_I'm not a good father." _Again the past revealed a little of what was hidden.

Ianto swallowed, edging closer to the truth. "I never asked you to be." He looked at the Doctor.

"I know." It was plain to see in the boy's face but there was something else there too, a resemblance, a likeness. The Doctor paused, swallowing back his emotion but a tear betrayed him, gathering the light as it fell down his cheek.

Ianto reached across, his fingertips brushing the Doctor's elusive confession.

"Doctor, you naughty boy, are you playing with my toys again." A shadowy vortex appeared, the Master's voice booming from its core.

The Doctor grabbed Ianto's hand. "He's far dangerous and stronger than you know, let me deal with him."

Ianto eyes never left his father. "No, not alone." The gap widened, its blackness devouring the light. "I never understood why you needed to save him, after all that he's done you've always made excuses for him. I understand now, you think you can save this bit of yourself, this dark history of yours, that by forgiving him, you can finally forgive yourself."

The Doctor's gaze was downcast. "No, I'll never be able to do that."

Black tendrils sprouted from inside the eddying hole and curled around the Doctor, seizing his body and dragging him backward. Their grip loosened, their fingers still stretching until they were holding nothing but air. Ianto watched as his father disappeared and the darkness envelope him.


	18. Of The Edge And Where I Walk Alone

**Of The Edge And Where I Walk Alone - 18**

Ianto was back in the hall of mirrors in front of the many faces of his father.

A whispered voice breezed around him. _"I feel pretty, oh so pretty, I feel pretty and witty and gay. And I pity any girl who isn't me today."_

An image stepped out from within the mirror, more worn than visible, more faded than clear. Lucy.

She was all bone, her skin thin and papery against her frame, her hair almost gone except a few lifeless stray wisps. _"I feel charming, oh so charming, it's alarming how charming I feel. And so pretty that I hardly can believe I'm real."_

She looked at him, her sunken cheeks heavy with blusher, her hollow eyes ring fenced with layers of mascara and blue eye shadow and her lips generously covered in a blood red hue. It was as if she was trying to forestall the inevitable, painting life back on her face when death's shadow was so far upon her, like a mummified old woman who still lunched.

Her voice broke with sorrow as she looked at her reflection.

"_See the pretty girl in that mirror there? Who can that attractive girl be?_

_Such a pretty face, such a pretty dress, such a pretty smile, such a pretty me!"_

She smoothed down the full taffeta skirt of her dress, sending clouds of swirling dust into the air from the stained and aged material. It was her wedding dress, Ianto realised, worn and soiled, the dress now wearing her as a statement to her marriage.

"_I feel stunning and entrancing, feel like running and dancing for joy, for I'm loved by a pretty wonderful boy."_

She turned to Ianto, the dress whispering as she moved like a harbinger of doom, its ragged and torn train hindering her pace. She tried to smile but had forgotten how in the depths of the Master's mind and it came across as a pitiful attempt, made all the more savage by the coating of lipstick. Lucy reached up and touched Ianto's face, her fingertips nothing but powder, her skin like a chalky wing of a colourless butterfly.

"Remember me, Ianto Jones. Love destroyed me, but I am not its victim, I welcomed it, for better or worse."

A tear fell from her eye, glistening sliver like a hoar frost; the last piece of her damage soul. "I still love him," she whispered. "Even after all he's done, I still crave his touch."

Ianto caught the tear on his finger, watching as its bead solidified against the tone of his skin. She wrapped his hand around it. "Many foolish things are done in the name of love."

Lucy stepped back. _"I feel pretty, oh so pretty that the city should give me its key. A committee should be organized to honour me." _ Her voice was barely audible, like a memory Ianto couldn't quite recall, a face he recognised but couldn't remember from where.

Lucy viewed herself in a mirror; there was no reflection, just blank glass. _"I feel dizzy, I feel sunny, I feel fizzy and funny and fine and so pretty, Miss America can just resign." _Her voice was a fragile and mournful sob as she laid her forehead against the polished surface.

She looked back at Ianto, her face an impassive mask of make-up as she faded into the body of Harold Saxon. _"See the pretty girl in that mirror there?" _ His voice echoed joyfully as he straightened his tie; Lucy's obscure reflection stared back at him._ "Who can that attractive girl be? Such a pretty face, such a pretty dress, such a pretty smile, such a pretty me!" _

He smiled generously in Ianto's direction. _"I feel stunning and entrancing, feel like running and dancing for glee, for I'm loved by a pretty wonderful me." _He threw out his arms theatrically.

"You changed the words," Ianto remarked, crossing his arms.

"Oh, I think I'm allowed to, my oblivion, my rules." His eyes met those of the younger man. "So, Ianto Jones, thought any more on my little proposition?" The Master licked his finger and rubbed it on the nearest mirror as if removing a smudge.

"Why should I join you?"

The Master sighed. "It's always the 'whys' with you…"

"I'm cautious."

"And you can call me magnanimous." The Master's smile avoided his eyes.

"Not really a word I'd associate with you," Ianto poised.

"See, you don't really know me at all, but you could. Work with me, Ianto, be my friend, it's a lot healthier than being my enemy." The Master inspected his nails. "I may even throw in the freak as a good will gesture, you know, for when you need a little R & R."

Ianto felt the precious gem of Lucy's tear warm his palm. He opened his hand watching his reflection in its many aspects. "I need some answers," he whispered.

The Master's eyes narrowed. "I need to know the truth," Ianto levelled with assurance as he threw the tiny legacy of Lucy's love into the façade of mirrors.

The glass shattered, exploding outward in fragmented shards, the force of which expelled the Master into the reality beyond the mirrors of the past.

Ianto reached out into the floating debris, the memories that glazed its surface were painful and sharp. He held onto one, its honed edge cutting into his palm, whetting the suppressed memory with blood. He looked into its burnished image.

The Doctor was sat in a cramped space, a niche fashioned in the wood that surrounded him, his head bent over the tall glass that he had rested on his knee. Others were seated in the single alcoves carved inside the hollow tree trunk, drinking and pondering their own plight; different species drawn by the intoxicating promise of something to deaden the pain of living. A man laughed into the sombre darkness; it was a loose sound, drooping around the edges with diverse sentiment, a plumb of green smoke trailing behind its clatter and untidiness. The man shrunk back from its noise, rocking slightly, his tattooed hands clutching at his drink while drawing from the hookah which has been carved into the timber. His eyes changed colour, wild reds and plums, as his consciousness floated high into the lofty extent of the tree.

Ianto again studied his father in the dim light. He wasn't drinking, just looking into the bright green liquid, watching the sediment rise and fall in the crude beaker. His hand shook; small tremors that betray an addiction while he chewed on his lip as if part of him was torn and trying to fight his dependency. He has failed countless times before; it was written on his unwashed face and apparent in his inaccessible and hooded stare. He needs to forget and this is the place for the forgotten.

Someone coughed, another cried out but no one looked round or made eye contact; it's an unspoken pact, no questions, no answers, just a steady decline into a wretched anonymity.

The Doctor's eyes lingered on the glass, debating whether or not to take a sip, arguments for and against raging in his unclear mind. He muttered something and ran his fingers through his unkempt hair, his hand fumbling for his time-piece. He opened the watch. "Time marches on its stomach," he exclaimed, shutting the case with a snap. "Twinkle, twinkle, little bat, how I wonder what you're at. Up above the world so high, like a tea tray in the sky." He licked his lips, his body rocking slightly, fingers curling around the glass in ownership.

"Lies, lies he's full of lies." He looked to the floor, the words stabbing at an unguarded moment. "Lies that twist and turn and pierce." He brought the thick glass beaker to his lips, unable to resist the promise of oblivion.

A movement caught Ianto's eye. Light spilled into the gloom, making those cheerless creatures near the door shield themselves from its scrutiny.

"Grandfather." The Doctor let the liquid ride over his tongue, ignorant to the child stood over him but Ianto recognised her, even though she couldn't be more than ten, he knew it was Susan, the Doctor's granddaughter.

"Grandfather." The child tried again, the Time Lord spared her a quick glance before his eyes searched beyond her.

Susan read him well. "She dead, he killed her." There was no softness to facilitate the words just a frankness about them, even more so coming from the lips of a child. Her tears had long since dried.

The Doctor clutched the glass tighter. "I thought she'd be safe," he whispered, watching its contents disperse in the muted light coming from the shadowy lanterns. "Why are you here?" His question was direct, his execution one not used to conversation.

"Looking for you." The answer was no less blunt.

"You shouldn't be here." The Time Lord dragged the glass nearer his body, wrapping his free arm about him, doing his best to ignore her presence.

Susan looked around her. "Nobody should," her answer was matchless.

The Doctor laughed, it was little unsettled, a little abrasive. "You should be somewhere safe." Still he avoided eye contact, his gaze still resting on the drift of residue held in the emerald liquid.

"No where's safe anymore." There was a stubbornness in her tone that made her grandfather look away from the drink.

"Now listen…"

"No, you listen. What use is a life not lived?" They held each other's obstinate stare, but the Doctor's was weakened. He looked away first.

"Go away, child, and leave me alone." His voice sounded tired. "Go away, as far from me as you can." He brought the glass to his lips again but was unable to drink.

"Susan, my name's Susan."

They were so alike that he dared not look at her again, the dim light playing on all those insecurities he wanted to forget.

"_Sanna, my name's Sanna." _

"No, no, no!" The memory seized him, pulling him back from the threshold of his self destruction, making him look into the mirror of his own soul. Murderer. "I've done so many things, bad things."

Who was he confessing to? The child? Himself?

"Then make amends." Susan leaned forward and tired to take the glass from his grip. He resisted, the liquid sloping onto his clothes making damp patches on the already soiled material. "Grandfather, you need to let go." The Doctor stopped, hearing a different voice, seeing someone else in his granddaughter's face.

"…_You will loose yourself in the journey."_

"I'm already lost," he told the echo of his past.

"No," Susan replied, taking the glass. "I've found you." She tipped the contents onto the floor, it solidified and the tiny creatures suspended in its glutinous mass scurried back into the wood.

The Doctor watched them scatter. "I don't know how?" he said softly, "I don't know how to make amends." He clasped his hands together to stop the tremors.

"Live," she countered, kneeling down to hold his hands in her own. She turned them upward. "Become what he is not. He has made you into his shadow and look where he has led you."

"I am his shadow." The Doctor looked at his blackened outline on the uneven grain of the gouged wall.

"No, you are not like him."

"_Please, do not make a widow out of me too." _Another voice pleaded, tearing at the fabric of his mind.

The Doctor snorted, trying to snatch his hands away, uncomfortable with the contact. "How would you know..?"

"Because my grandmother loved you."

Other memories began to spill in the empty space in his head.

"_Because he twisted it with his lies."_

"_But it's over."_

"_And I killed him." _

"_Let it end here, please." _

"_It will never end unless I end it!"_

"_Look to the child she needs you now."_

"_Look to the child she needs you now."_

"_Look to the child she needs you now."_

His own words set about the path of his redemption.

"_Because my grandmother loved you."_

The simplicity of her words struck at that fine cord he had buried within himself. He looked at her, a child, an equal. "I killed…" He couldn't even say the words, the door between them now fully open as the tears began to fall.

She held onto him, stopping him from turning away, there was no reproach in the sincerity of her gaze. "I know," she said softly. She squeezed his hands. "Come with me, Grandfather. I need you."

He shook his head. "I'm not a good father."

"And I'm not asking for one." Susan reached into her pocket and wrapped his hand around a key. "She believed in you, always."

She stood waiting for his response. The Doctor opened his hand and looked at the TARDIS key. "Where..?" Susan just smiled.

The Doctor turned the silver key over, letting its burnished surface glint in the gloom. "I don't know…"

"Grandfather, I've nowhere to go but with you."

"_Look to the child she needs you now."_

He ran his hand through his hair, uncertain. He looked at her. "I can't go back."

Susan held out her hand to him. "Then let's go forward, together."

He looked at his palm, still seeing the stain of blood upon the skin. "Grandfather?" Susan could feel his resolve slipping away.

"You need to do something for me first." Susan nodded cautiously as he reached into his jacket pocket. "Put this away, I wish to see it no more." He handed her his sonic screwdriver.

She looked down at the device. "Grandfather…"

"Away, child, please. Hide it." Susan nodded.

Ianto watched the Doctor stand on unforgiving legs as the splinter of memory broke in his hand and another availed itself to him.

The Kraki was burning. Beyond the sound of screams and dying the body was flame fodder as the fire surged over flesh and bone.

"Widow Maker!" A woman screamed, barrelling out of the bushes toward the Doctor, her small and rotund frame challenging the might of the Time Lord. "I wish to look into your soul glass if I am to burn too." She turned the might of her amber stare to him. "Will you look into mine and those of my blood skins as you sentence us to a speechless death?" A group of dishevelled children followed the woman out into the open, tears running down their filthy little faces.

The Doctor's anger did not wane. The woman stepped forward. "You have blood skins, you have future kind?" The children clung to her ragged skirt, trying to pull her back.

"I did have." The Doctor saw his monster reflected in their rustic eyes.

The Kraki woman was wise enough to read his face and the shade of his voice. "Then I feel for your heart in a speechless death."

"Oh, it was far from speechless." The Doctor averted his gaze.

The woman seized her chance. "Then angry words have cut you so to make you this man, for there is a heart in your window souls that shows you were not always fashioned thus."

The Doctor's stare returned to her, it was as harsh as his words. "No, a mischief of lies from a dishonourable tongue have turned me into the blackest of carrion."

The woman pulled the smallest of the children closer into the hunch of her body. "And this Loki is feeding from the bones of your sorrow and turning your hand to abate your loss."

"He is the cause."

"Lord of Time, then let me offer you good trade that my man Kraki could not understand." She looked to the embers of the blackened body as the Doctor waited on her words. The woman offered up her palm as she spoke, the copper of her keen teeth showing in the glow of death. "Let us go out into the ink of the ocean and trade on the tale of our own destruction. Let us recount the name of your lord of mischief and tell of the rage that awaits all those who aid him. Let this be our forward path, let those of us left make new footprints in the sea of shining rocks."

"You will not return to your old ways and fetter yourselves in the trade of destruction and death." The Doctor's stare burrowed deep.

"I speak for all those who will carry this night, for I am aged with many seasons and my words are good if the pact is here made."

The Doctor hesitated.

"Lord of Time, will you condemn yourself further with the repentant blood of those who wish to change?"

The words pierced his weary hearts. The sonic screwdriver fell by his side as the Doctor laid his hand over her thick upturned palm. "Then go and take with you the name of the Master."

--------------------------------------

The sliver of the glass crumbled in Ianto's hand and the sheen of another pierced his shoulder. He cried out against its raw edge.

Gallifrey. Sanna stood looking out at its mix of amber hues, her mind restless and impatient yet she stood still, statuesque against the backdrop, dressed in richly decorated bronze grab that matched neither her countenance nor the sadness of her eyes. Steady footfalls approached and her hand clutched at the material of her dress, crushing the soft velvet in her fist. The Doctor paused at the doorway and she turned her head, her bountiful gaze seeing through his façade. He entered the chamber and deep down she knew an end had come and their paths would change forever.

For a moment they stood without a word spoken, neither wanting to shatter the pretence between them, both hanging onto those precious few seconds before their world would fall to ashes around them. Sanna straightened; preparing herself for what she knew was to come, her stare broken with tears as the Doctor looked away. "He's dead." There was no emotion left in his voice.

"Did he..?" There was a grain hope in her voice as she searched his harrowed expression.

He could lie, but she would know. The Doctor shook his head. "No, not even at the end."

Sanna closed her eyes, her hearts breaking. "Then I am sorry for that," she whispered, turning to view the heat of the landscape. "I do not understand how our love became so twisted."

His sharp eyes looked at her, their cinnamon hue blind with rage. "Because _he _twisted it with his lies."

She held out her hand to him but the Doctor flinched from her touch. "But it's over," she placated.

"Over, over for who? Do you think I will ever be clean of this death? We are taught to make sacrifices for the greater good…" His despair showed through the anger and he turned away, leaving the statement hanging between them.

Tears fell against her cheek. He looked over his shoulder at her. "I killed him."

The Doctor was a broken man, the very bones of his soul exposed, his spirit trampled and worn beyond its measure. There was nothing left of the man she loved, he was empty and bleeding except for the hate that burnt inside of him.

"Stay," she said, afraid of where his torment would lead him.

For a brief moment their eyes met and he belonged solely to her in the pause of his emotions, but they clouded too quickly and darkened beyond recognition.

He looked away. "I cannot, there are things that I must attend to."

"Then, stay for a little while. Let us take time to mourn together." Instinctively her hand when to his shoulder but he stepped clear.

He looked to the blood orange glow of the hills. "What use would it be to grieve a stranger? What words would we use to tell of our hearts' betrayal?"

"Words known only to us. He was our son and we loved him." She stepped beside him.

"He was never ours, the Master saw to that."

Sanna swallowed. "Let it end here, please." She was a fool to believe their love would be enough but it was all she had, it was all they ever needed, once.

He turned on her, grabbing her arm, creasing the heavy material of her sleeve. "It will never end unless I end it!"

She held the crest of his wild stare and she knew she had lost him. "Do not follow in his footsteps, it is what he wants and you will lose yourself in the journey. Please, do not make a widow out of me too."

Her fingers strayed to his temple, combing a fallen strand of hair over his ear.

He closed his eyes to her familiar touch, lacing his own fingers through hers and pulling them to his lips for one final kiss.

"I am dead already," he whispered softly before heading to the door. "Look to the child, she needs you now." He didn't look back; he couldn't bring himself too, for fear of falling apart.

"For the greater good," Sanna whispered mindlessly, as she watched him go.

The image fractured and Ianto felt the crush of emotion empty his body. He knew what was coming, as Scrooge had awaited the ghost of Christmas yet to come, Ianto knew the spirit that haunted his father.

The memory drove into him, impaling his heart as it had torn apart both of the Doctor's.


	19. Read Between The Lines

**Read Between The Lines - 19**

Ianto was close to the water's edge, it lapped heavily against the bank as if complaining the trade of junk like boats was too much of a weighty burden for its dark and inky stretch. The harbour was little more than a shanty town, irregular, makeshift buildings forming an uneven line against the loch's bustling edge. Noise swelled around him, drifting in many languages as countless species screeched to be heard, bartering their wares, or haggling over price with the promise of money, livestock or flesh in recompense. The smell was oppressive in the stifling heat; too many close bodies with little sanitation that not even those boats laden with heavily scented oils and spices could hide. Poverty and disease were rife too, Ianto saw several ragged creatures slumped in the overcrowded warrens of the streets, too sick to crawl into the shade, while others, some even children, held out hands or claws to those who stepped over them. But something had brought each and every one of these diverse species to this iniquitous maze. And someone had brought his father a long time ago.

The Doctor stood in a shady nook, shapeless in the darkness as he watched the crowd. Waiting. A young man appeared, a little out of place amid the unwashed traders hawking exotic plants and the Doctor's eyes followed where he went, pursing him only when the man had turned the corner into a back alley. The Doctor kept his distance as he was led through the dense labyrinth of passageways, until they seemed to be at the heart of the township's seedy tenements.

The violet light from the sun had darkened due to the overhang of rudimentary dwellings set against each other in a mishmash of both materials and styles. Brick and stone crumbled next to half rotten timber domiciles, some precariously three storeys high, held together with nothing but good intensions and weakening supports. Torn pieces of plastic hung off metal- framed boxes, a home in the sweltering heat for the families who survived in the gutters that ran rancid with waste. The Doctor spared no time to look upon their misery he was only after one quarry in this slum of inter-species living; his son, who had strayed too far from home.

"Are you looking for me, Father?" The young man's voice stole from behind him.

"Kellan." The Doctor turned so his unyielding stare rested on his son. Both men took the measure of each other, an angry silence burning the space between them. "I've come to take you back."

"Really." Kellan stretched the word between its two points. "And what if I refuse, old man?" Those left on the cramped street seemed to sense a confrontation and withdrew to their dwellings to peep through holes and from behind tattered cloth.

The Doctor shook his head. "Then I will use force." His eyes never left his son.

Kellan laughed. "You don't have it in you."

"Oh, you'll be surprised what I have in me after witnessing your atrocities. The Altarnun, the Ennys, the Risen Tarr…"

"All Enemies of the Time Lords," Kellan spat back. "Don't tell me you wept their demise?" His disparaging pale grey stare cut into his father. "The universe is a safer place without them."

"It's not for us to play god," the Doctor bellowed, his voice carrying against the unstable buildings. "The Wenn, the Tuell, and the Bray are also our enemies, but you lie with them."

"They know when to make the right allegiance," Kellan threw back as he glowered at his father.

"Are you that naïve? Can't you see they're using you for their own ends?"

"No, I'm using them, old man; I'm no amateur at this!" Kellan pulled at the high neck of his tunic, unfastening it in the heat. "Who do you think gave me the tools to defeat the Quarl?" He took several defiant steps forward.

"The Quarl were never our enemies, they were a peaceful race…" the Doctor expressed, his eyes filling with sorrow.

"But they held the Meinek Stone." His stare widened, his words peppered with contempt. "The Wenn thought I was _naïve_ too, they thought I'd just hand the stone over, but they soon realised their mistake after I used its power on one of their settlements. Now we're the best of friends." There was nothing pleasant in his smile.

The Doctor turned away. "I don't know you any more."

Kellan laughed, it was an embittered sound that wasn't out of place amid the desolation. "You never knew me at all, you never tried." A ruddiness crept across his cheeks.

"I tired, Kellan, believe me I tried." The Doctor shook his head, his eyes turning to the gutter.

"Not hard enough. I was always a disappointment…"

"No," the Doctor interrupted, "never." He closed his eyes. "You tried to cut too many corners, always looking for the easy option…"

"Because I could never be you!" The young man's sharp words ricochet like wounding bullets.

"I never asked you to be." The Doctor held eye contact with his son, keeping him close.

The young man narrowed his gaze. "No, not out loud, but it was always there, in your eyes, the displeasure, the dissatisfaction, the shame that I never lived up to your expectations."

The Doctor looked at him, taking in his appearance - the resentment reflecting in the silver-grey glint of his eyes, the sweep of his dark hair, long against his neck and curling slightly into his cheeks, the deep bow set on his pale lips that furthered his strong jaw line and the obstinate jut of his chin. This was the boy he had raised, but only outwardly; his soul belonged to another.

"So what is all this? A cry for my attention? Payback?"

Kellan gave a scornful laugh. "This isn't about you, old man, this is all about me; this is who I am." He stretched out his arms and bowed to his father.

"A murderer and a thief? Is this what you've become?"

"A revolutionary, bringing about a new era for our people, and I'm not alone. There are others, like me, who desire a change in our policies." He began to pace, running his fingers through the heavy mantle of his hair. "What use is all we've achieved if we cannot use it for our own advantage, to further our own race?"

This time the Doctor laughed. "These are not your words…"

Kellan turned to his father tapping his own chest with both hands. "They are my ideals." His tone was loud and agitated.

"No, they are his," the Doctor spat back.

Kellan smiled. "It still hurts your pride doesn't it, Father, that I chose him above you."

"It hurts me to see what you've become."

"A great leader…"

"No, a fool." The Doctor marched forward and grabbed Kellan, fisting the material of his tunic and shoving him back into the rotten timbers of a building. "Can't you see through his lies, he's only using you to get at me?"

Kellan lashed out, his fist connecting with the Doctor's jaw, sending his father stumbling sidewards. "Everything has to be about you, doesn't it? Well, maybe you're right; maybe I was a fool, once, to think you could ever love anyone but yourself." He drew breath, watching his father's reaction. "The only thing that puzzles me is how the hell my mother ever fell for your bullshit, but then again, you didn't lie with her for her brains, did you?"

The Doctor slapped him hard across the mouth, splitting his lip and drawing blood; Kellan laughed and wiped his fingers over the wound. "Thank you, old man," he sneered, showing the Doctor the drying beads of scarlet on his hand. "I was wondering how I would release the pathogen; how ironic that you were the cause." They were close enough for him to smear a little on his father's face.

The Doctor's hand went instinctively to the smudge on his cheek as his son's words wreaked their havoc. He seized the loose neck of Kellan's tunic, his hold pulling apart the ornate stitching on the shoulders. "Pathogen, what pathogen?" he replied viciously, spitting the words into his son's face.

"The Verath Urden," Kellan retorted, a sneer spreading across his face.

The Doctor yanked the fabric towards him, his grip tightening. "You wouldn't let that loose here, knowing how deadly it is?" But the truth was there, etched on the young man's face.

Kellan glared in triumph. "Yes I would, and, technically I didn't; you did."

The Doctor pushed him back into the brickwork, dust flew into the air. "You're condemning millions to the most painful of deaths. What about your own daughter?"

Kellan brushed off the filth and adjusted his clothes. "Oh, don't be so dramatic, Father. We've altered its generic make-up, engineered it so it'll only infect a select number of species, all of which patronise this rat warren of a planet and now, thanks to you, it's airborne."

The Doctor turned away, looking at the ground. "The Kraki, you went to visit them…"

Kellan straightened, combing a hand through his hair. "And they were most helpful in locating a strain of the pathogen from the Chemists of the Aga Gar."

The Doctor spun round. "Don't you understand how virulent it is, it could easily mutate."

"It's coded to die after a set time." A cruel smile passed over the young man's face. "Which will just be long enough to wipe out many of those who've opposed us in the past."

"Us?" the Doctor reiterated.

"The Time Lords."

The Doctor looked at his son with regret. He closed his eyes. "No, Kellan, just those who've opposed the Master." He grabbed onto an exposed metal beam. "You know, there's still time to stop this, we could administer the antidote." The words felt heavy and empty but there was still a spark of hope riding on their effect.

Kellan's smile widened. "Antidote? What Antidote?"

The Doctor struck him again. "Have you seen this death?" His rage tore through the overcrowded alley, its fury inciting the tight wind of his emotions.

"Of course I have," Kellan replied, indignant, "we had to test it!"

"Then how can you be so indifferent?" The heat was provoking him, goading him, blinding him.

"I guess I'm a product of my upbringing."

"No, you're a product of his lies." He hit his son once more, his action fuelled with the guilt and shame of an outraged parent. The powerful strike caught Kellan off guard, sending him tumbling into one of the crumbling buildings.

For a moment the universe stopped as both men looked upon each other - the Doctor, stood over his son, arm raised, his anger burning a hole through his awareness and Kellan, his face showing the initial surprise at his father's response and the aftershock of pain where he had fallen onto a protruding piece of metal.

The Doctor fell to his knees, his hands covering the wound as if sheer determination would stop the blood flow. "You can regenerate." His voice rose in panic. "Let me help you." He cradled his son to him.

"No!" The word was as defiant as the look in his eyes.

"Don't be afraid; just go with it, regenerate, I'll help you through it." He gripped one of his son's bloody hands.

"And spend another lifetime as your son - I guess you don't know me so well, I refuse." The words were steeped in scarlet.

"Kellan, regenerate, just regenerate, come on!" The Doctor squeezed his son's hand, urging him, his face aging in heartache and anxiety.

"Why?" Kellan coughed a little, his face expressionless in the pain. "To ease your conscience?"

"No, son, we can work out the differences between us…" the Doctor pleaded, his hearts breaking with each passing second.

"We've gone too far for that." Kellan's eyes gleamed with victory. "This way I'm in control, this way I finally win."

"Please, son, I love you, I always have."

Kellan looked at his father and smiled. He lifted a hand and placed it on the back of the Doctor's neck so he could pull him closer. His breathing became laboured and as he drew his last breath, whispering the words that would consumed his father: "I hate you, I always have."


	20. What's Fed Up And Everything's Alrigh

**What's Fucked Up And Everything's Alright - 20**

Ianto gave a sharp intake of breath as he awoke back in the chair. He ached from inside out and his head felt like it had been pulverized between two blunt objects again and again. He leant forward and dry heaved; the strain on his stomach muscles only added to his misery.

"Well, seems I underestimated you." Lucy's voice ground into the crush of his skull. "It won't happen again." She took a sip from a glass of water that was placed on the table.

Ianto licked his dry lips, watching as she swallowed smoothly. Lucy smiled. "Did you get your answers?" She took a large swig of water letting it wash around her mouth before ingesting.

"Yes." The echo of his own voice pummelled around his head. Ianto closed his eyes trying to block out all sound and light.

Lucy stood from where she was sat, letting the chair scrap loudly against the floor; Ianto visibly flinched. "So, I ask you again, Ianto Jones, will you join me?" Her voice purred seductively but Ianto recognised all the Master's lies in its inflection.

"No." His stare was unwavering as he held eye contact.

Lucy walked behind him, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Are you sure I can't persuade you otherwise? I mean, look at the facts, Ianto, he killed one son, whose to say he doesn't have a bloodlust to rid himself of another." She pressed her fingers down hard on his clavicles, making Ianto hiss with pain.

"There were mitigating circumstances," he answered as the pinch of Lucy's caress moved onto his deltoids.

"His anger got the best of him, Ianto, the darkness inside of him boiled and over spilled, is that who you want to align yourself with?" Her thumbs dug into his trapezius muscles, kneading a little too hard. "Someone that volatile, someone that unbalanced, someone who's incapable of real love."

"Someone like you?" His voice was gruff as the words scratched against his throat.

Lucy's manipulation hardened. "At least with me you know what you're getting. I hide behind no masks." She let her chin rest on his shoulder. "We're the same, you know, he and I."

She bit into his ear and then stood up, letting her hands travel down his arms to the back of the chair; she tipped it backward so she could look at his face. "Join me, Ianto. Let us be friends, let us bury the past and bring in a bright new future."

"No!"

"Wrong answer." Lucy let go of the chair, it plunged backward onto the floor taking Ianto with it, his head slamming against the hard stone, his arms jarring behind him as they took his the full force of his fall; Ianto yelled out.

Lucy looked down on him, an indistinct shape as his tattered mind began to collapse inward. "Breakfast is in half an hour and then, Ianto, you and me will get to know each other a little better." Her voice was barely audible above the rush in his head. "But for now, I'll leave you in Neil's capable hands for I feel the change coming on."

Lucy's disturbing smile faded into the blackness as Ianto crumpled into oblivion.

------------------------------------

Ianto awoke to a pair of shiny, metallic, shoes – high heeled, platinum, snake effect with a slight green/blue tinge. He blinked, testing his reasoning; the shoes seemed out of place in the grime of the setting, a little too decadent maybe, while the high gloss of their patent leather made his eyes hurt. The shoes moved closer, the board toes that _peeped_ from cutaway front had a masculine quality to them, made even more apparent by the coarse and wiry hairs that sprung from the top of their skin. The toes waggle almost in greeting, their nails neatly clipped and painted a bright iridescent blue as they came to rest a little away from Ianto's aching head. His world righted itself from its upturned position as the chair was put back on its legs. Ianto slumped forward, the movement not helping his head or the strain on his arms.

Someone walked around him; he could hear the heel toe tap against the floor circling the chair. Ianto shook his head trying to ward off the nausea that was rising from his shattered body. Silk touched his skin, ghosting across his cheek like a soft summer breeze. Ianto focused on the milky torso facing him, partly concealed in a teal camisole, opened down the front and tied with an oversized bow under nonexistent breasts. Again he found himself blinking, wondering if this was some surreal trace memory. The heels clicked back a bit and Ianto saw it was a matching set, teal silk knickers to compliment the top, both with an identical corsage on the left-hand side. He looked up into Neil's delicately decorated face: mascara, eyeliner, hint of blusher, and bright pink lips. He wanted to laugh; it seemed bizarre, like a Rocky Horror sequel with Neil as a diluted version of Frank-N-Furter.

Down grabbed his hair and pulled his head back. "What?" A small amount of lipstick smeared his teeth, marring its perfection.

Ianto swallowed against the thick aroma of perfume that burst from Neil's sudden movement. Lily of the Valley, Ianto was sure, an elderly aunt use to buy it for his foster mother every Christmas: Yardley's Lily of the Valley, a small, one hundred and twenty-five mil bottle that use to find its way into the school's bazaar the following summer.

"What?" Neil asked again.

"Aren't you a little _exposed_?" Ianto managed to grind out.

"No, I'm being true to myself. The Master has set me free. This is who I am," Neil replied with parroted assurance.

"And what do the rest of your colleagues think about the real you?"

Neil let him go, touching the side of his lips as if the colour had dribbled.

"There are just a handful of us left, those who understand the truth of their inner selves, those he trusts implicitly…"

"Trust? That's a word rarely associated with the Master. You know what he plans for the human race, how can you _trust_ that you won't find yourself sold and sent to some distant planet?"

Neil turned and walked back to the table, each step measured in the high heels. He picked up a bottle of water. "Because I'm not surplus to his requirements, I'm needed; he trusts me and I him." He unscrewed the cap and brought it to Ianto. "Don't think you can turn me, Jones, I'll not break any confidences here." He placed the open neck of the bottle to Ianto's mouth and let him drink, watching the water moisten and glide over his lips. Neil felt a familiar pull.

Ianto drunk greedily from the bottle. He swallowed, looking directly at Down. "Confidences?" Ianto laughed, it hurt. "I know the Master, Neil, he hardly shares his confidences with anyone, especially an underling."

That earned him a slap around the face. "I'm no underling."

"Of course not," Ianto replied, his answer flooded with scepticism.

"He's confided all to me." Neil's voice rose slightly with indignation.

"Of course he has." Ianto tone was dismissive.

"I know how he plans to use the Archangel network…"

"That's been decommissioned," Ianto shot back, baiting Neil further.

"Not all of it, Jones," Down replied with a self-satisfied grin. "And he doesn't need it to be fully operational." He placed a finger to the side of his head. "You see he still here, at the back of everyone's subconscious, like a ghost of a thought. All he has to do is tap into their minds and activate his will on the population again; the satellites will just boost his signal."

"How?" Ianto asked. "Surely he needs the whole network?"

Neil laughed. "Oh, but he doesn't, you're forgetting about the ring."

"The ring," Ianto whispered solemnly.

"Yes, by using its power he can subliminally influence the population once more."

"To vote him Prime Minister again?"

"No, Emperor. You see, they will have no choice but to bend to his will and let him lead them away from the manipulative regime of this government."

"Into slavery."

"For some, yes, a much better alternative than death, though? It's not the first time this nation of ours has used transportation to rid itself of the _surplus_ population." Again Neil tipped the bottle to Ianto's lips to stop further discussion; most of the water ran down his chin and dripped on his abused chest. Down smiled, watching as it soaked into the Welshman's trousers.

He grabbed Ianto's face, his eyes drawn once more to the curve of his lips. "Now, enough with the questions." He poured the remains of the water over Ianto's head. "Let's get you cleaned up for breakfast."

Ianto shook his head to clear the water running into his ears and eyes. Neil placed the bottle back on the table and returned to Ianto carrying a tea towel: a linen one declaring, 'I 'heart' Cardiff' in bold red letters. Normally, Ianto would have baulked at the use of drying body parts with a cloth designed for wiping crockery, but tied to a chair, he had little choice but to accept Neil's severe administrations.

"Dirty boys, filthy little boys, we must wash them clean, make them all sugar and spice." Neil repeated his mantra as if it had been drilled into him at another place and time.

He worked the stiff material down Ianto's torso, making him cry out as he forcefully rubbed the blistering skin. "What are little boys made of? Snips and snails, and puppy dogs tails, that's what little boys are made of!" The words were spoken with disdain as he brutally scrubbed Ianto's skin, his eyes glazing over as his strokes got harder.

"I know what you do when you think no one can see you. I know what nasty little boys do, how they degrade and defile themselves, but God is watching, he sees all your filthy little habits and he will punish you." He stopped making vicious circles on Ianto's chest and moved away.

Neil went over to the table and picked up a small cylindrical object next to the empty water bottle; it clicked when he opened it. He turned back to Ianto holding the lipstick applicator tightly in his hand. Ianto's brain stalled for a moment unable to comprehend just why Neil would have brought the cosmetic with him. Had he devised some new form of torture? After all, they say lip gloss is a woman's secret weapon could it also be used to maim, gouge, kill? Death by lipstick wasn't what he had planned for an epitaph.

Neil sidled closer and crouched down, holding the coated applicator to Ianto's lips. "Sugar and spice and all things nice, that's what little girls are made of," he whispered seductively.

Ianto flinched away, but Neil held him still with his free hand so he could glaze the younger man's lips, taking his time to enjoy the sensual pleasure each stroke of the wand offered as he meticulously applied the shade over each peak and curve, deftly covering the healing split and building the shimmering hue to a kissable pink climax of desire.

"I really don't think pink's my colour," Ianto said as Neil sat back, admiring his work. This earned him another vicious slap to the side of the head.

"Shut the fuck up," Neil snarled, his eyes never leaving the blush of Ianto's lips. "You've got a smart mouth, Jones, you don't deserve such a pretty colour, all sugar and spice cannot make a virgin out of a whore." Neil smeared the shade across Ianto's mouth with his thumb. "Dirty little whore that's what little boys are made of." Blood began to fog the peppy sparkle of gloss as the wound on Ianto's lip re-opened.

Neil watched the bright pulse of red bubble and drip from the ragged tear. He let his fingertips trace the contours of Ianto's mouth, the soft, cushioning skin rippling with the pressure causing the blood to blend with the lustre of the lipstick, catching the dance of the light and reddening the young man's lips against the ivory of his skin. The rasp of Neil's breathing became sporadic as he was drawn to the flush of colour, tempting him to experience its shade directly. He swallowed and then pressed his own lips against Ianto's with a hard, unyielding kissed, his mouth wet and open, his ungainly tongue licking off the metallic tang of the colour and probing between Ianto's own lips.

It was a clumsy encounter, the kiss becoming more intense as Neil lost himself to his craving, nipping and chewing on the malleable and broken skin, burying himself in its brutal assault, stifling the other man's breath to quell the ferocity of his hunger until its pinnacle had been reached; Neil pulled back, his breath hitching against the tightly drawn ribbon of the camisole, his eyes filled with disgust. He looked down at the bloom of fluid darkening the silk of his knickers and the proud stance of his swift erection. He instantly recoiled, getting up and walking away backward; one of his heels turning under his uneven body weight causing him to stumble a little to the left.

Ianto inhaled deeply, letting the clean air wash away the sickening feeling of defilement.

"Whore!" Neil berated yet again, throwing the lipstick wand across the room. "Naughty little whore!"

He ferociously wiped the back of his hand across his mouth until the skin reddened with the friction. "That's what little boys are made of," he began to murmur under his breath. "Snips and snails and puppy dogs tails." He steadied himself with both hands on the edge of the table. "That's what little boys are made of."

He walked back to Ianto and raised his hand but couldn't bring himself to touch the younger man again. "I'm going to have to clean you up again, you dirty little boy, clean right inside where all those dirty little thoughts like to hide, we must rinse the evil from within you. Andrews!"

The Unit man appeared on the stairway, looking a little more apprehensive than Ianto remembered. Neil walked behind Ianto and began to undo the binding on his wrists. "I want you to take Jones, here, down to where they process the Weevils."

"Sir?" Andrews's voice was less assured.

Neil gave an exasperated sigh. "The hose, Andrews, hose the boy down." He grabbed Ianto by the shoulder and yanked him to his feet. "He needs freshening up!"

Neil shoved his charge forward into the UNIT man, Ianto's legs buckling with the sudden use; Andrews caught him before he fell. "What, now, sir?" the military man asked, holding Ianto steady.

"Yes now, you fucking imbecile." Neil eyes narrowed at the UNIT officer. "Are you questioning me, _again_, Andrews?" He stepped forward confidently in a glint of heels. "You know what happened last time, you questioned my authority."

Andrews swallowed. "Yes, sir, I'll take him down, now." He spat the last word with contempt, squeezing Ianto's shoulder to direct him back up the stone steps.

"I'll be with you in a second to make sure you do a thorough job, we don't want a lot of piss and puke to put us off breakfast now, do we?"

"No, Mr Down," Andrews responded submissively.

Neil smiled to himself. "I prefer_ sir_, Andrews. I'd remember that if I were you."

"Yes, sir," the UNIT man countered, trying to sound sincere.

Neil watched them make their way up the stone staircase, Ianto stumbling as he tried to negotiate the bulky steps on uncooperative legs.

"Yes, sir," Neil whispered, stroking the fluted edge along the camisole's cups, his long fingers trailing the stitching down his body.

His touch strayed to the swelling in his knickers, gently manipulating the expectant bulge. He glanced at his watch, timing himself. "Yes, sir," he repeated, again and again, sucking in the words. "Oh. Yes. Sir!"


	21. Check My Vital Signs

**Check My Vital Signs – 21**

Both Jack and Martha were herded into the boardroom. The solid oval table was set with all the accoutrements for a hearty breakfast, including a vast white table cloth and a decorative, bone china tea service, but even all this finery could not mask the faint aroma of sewage that stemmed from the curve of the walls.

"I know, I went overboard, it's a bit lavish for just us five, but hey, it's my _coming out_ celebration." The Master stood at the top of the table, resting his hands on the cushioned back of a cream and teak chair. "So what do you think?" He turned round for them, arms outstretched. He looked the same as before, Harold Saxon but with a ginger goatee. "Come on, don't be shy, Martha why don't you kick off."

"You've put on a bit of weight," she replied, crossing her arms.

The Master smoothed the front of his expensive suit down. "Now, now, Martha, dear, sarcasm does not become you." He turned to Jack. "Captain Harkness, you've a good eye, come on, be honest, you've missed my boyish good looks."

Jack sighed. "Like the goatee, very Machiavellian, but you're mincing a bit."

The Master rubbed a hand over the trim of copper facial hair. "Oh, like you don't," he shot back, standing a little more stiffly.

"Yeah, well, I do it with style." The cockiness evident in Jack's retort.

The Master gave a disparaging snort, his eyes glinting like the flint of his soul. "Now, where are my manners?" he said as the genial host. "Please, sit down." He went and pulled out a chair. "Martha, dear, you sit here, by me." He patted the seat.

"Where are the Doctor and Ianto?" she demanded, remaining where she was.

"Joining us very soon." The Master nodded to a UNIT soldier who directed her roughly into the seat with a flick of his rifle butt. "Freak, if you wouldn't mind." He gestured to an empty chair, his eyes daring Jack to refuse his hospitality as he stood behind Martha, resting both hands on her shoulders. Jack looked between them, aware of the Master's unspoken threat he sat down.

"Now, I don't usually agree with television over breakfast but it would be rude not to include him." The Master activated his laser screwdriver and the time bubble appeared in the corner of the room. Both Jack and Martha were appalled by what they saw, rising to their feet immediately.

The Doctor's image fluctuated in the restraining rim, morphing painfully into the many faces of his past. He screamed, buckling with the swell of each transformation that stretched and then constricted in the protrusion of the bubble.

"What've you done to him?" Jack demanded as he strode across to the ever changing form of the Doctor, pressing an opened hand into the ghost of the image.

"Not me, freak, that little boy toy of yours. It's a reaction, an imbalance caused by a sudden surge of adverse memories the boy brought to the surface."

The Master stood next to him, his proximity making Jack shudder inwardly. "Amazing isn't it, I never thought their connection would be so complete, so powerful. It's a wondrous thing to behold, the agony of a soul torn apart in limbo."

He pushed his finger into the image, causing furrowed lines to ripple through the interior of the TARDIS. "And I didn't have to lift a finger; this is all down to Ianto Jones and his incessant need to find out who his father really is."

The Doctor looked up at him with features Jack recognised but did not know. His hair was a starling mass of grey waves, his face bore the lines of dramatic expression but his eyes, his eyes had lost all that made him who he was.

"It's not his fault, Jack," the Doctor declared, as his face was stretched and pummelled into the man the captain had first met.

"Doctor?" Jack's heartfelt whisper parted the watery film.

The Time Lord gazed at the captain through the ghost of Ianto's eyes. "It's mine." He looked down at his hands. "There's too much blood, I can't wash…" The Doctor's face shrunk in on itself, remoulding back to its familiar form, his agony apparent in the resounding cry that shook the room.

Martha stepped forward. "Stop it! Stop it, please! You're killing him."

"That's the general idea," the Master retorted with a tilt of his head.

Jack turned, his face flushed with anger, grabbing him by his lapels. The UNIT man stepped forward but the Master stopped him with a gesture of his hand. "Let him go!" Jack spat in his face.

"What are you going to do, freak, rip the buttons off my shirt?" He removed himself from the captain's grip with distain. "I don't take orders from you, you're not in command here anymore; you're _both_ completely dependent on my benevolence, which is wearing very thin. Not a good start to the day!"

He turned his attention back to the Doctor who had settled into a mopped headed tramp of a man with wide eyes that had lost their mischievous twinkle. "You think you know him, but believe me, you've just scratched the surface, deep down he's as rotten as the rest of you with your miserable insecurities and duel thoughts of conscience."

There was a snarl in the timbre of his voice. "Look further, behind that penitent mask of his and you'll find the empty cloth of a murderer, cold blooded, with a soul as dark as his deeds." He turned his head to Jack with a snort. "You hardly know him!"

"He's a good man," Jack shot back.

The Master just laughed. "He's a fraud, but maybe that's the appeal, eh Captain Hard On? You both being cut from the same cloth? Tell me, do you close your eyes and imagine the father as you fuck the son?"

"Never," Jack growled.

"Oh, I bet you do." The Master inhaled deeply through his grin. "And even if I told you the truth about the man underneath the Doctor's façade, you'd still do anything to save him, wouldn't you?"

"We all have our pasts," Jack parried.

"Our salad days," the Master reminisced. "Ah, those heady days full of the murder of innocents…"

"Some of us grow up," Jack spat.

"And some of us find we're good at it, accomplished even." He gave Jack a sideways glance, his tongue playing at the corner of his mouth. "What if I gave you a chance to save him from this agony, would you take it?" he mused, a finger drawing a pattern on the captain's shoulder. Jack stiffened at the contact, his own memories screaming in his head.

"Jack," the Doctor warned through painful gasps as he tried to stand.

The Master smiled. "Look at him, freak, he's damaged, his body and mind crushed against the rocks of his past. He's drowning in his own memories, his own conscience pushing him under…"

"Jack, don't listen to him," Martha cried out.

The Master glowered at her before returning his focus to the captain. "It makes no difference to me, of course. It's up to you, your decision. Can you really watch him suffer like this? Watch him slowly and painfully loose his mind until he becomes like those poor wretches you send to Flat Holm? His mind will die, perish in his skull, his body staying healthy and intact, but the man you know as the Doctor will be gone for good."

He squeezed Jack's shoulder. "Do you want to save him?"

"Yes," Jack whispered.

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you," the Master sing-songed.

"Yes, whatever you want," he ground out.

"Jack, you don't know what he's asking." The Doctor, his Doctor, stood before him, his grainy image wavering like the burn of a candle. They were lifetimes apart yet caught in the web of this moment.

"I can't let him do this to you." Jack pushed his head against haze of the picture. "I owe you too much."

"You must," the Doctor insisted, his face beginning to rearrange once more.

"Here." The Master handed Jack his Webley. "One bullet and one bullet only, I suggest you don't waste it needlessly, freak."

The UNIT soldier behind Martha took his handgun from its holster and aimed it at her head. "Just so you don't get confused as to what the target is," the Master informed him. "Any deviance and _Doctor_ Jones will miss breakfast."

Jack looked down at the weapon and then back to the Master. The Time Lord smirked, it was cruel and merciless. "To save him, _freak_, you must sever the link." He moved closer to Jack's ear. "And to sever the link you must kill the boy."

The Master withdrew to the table picking up a large cafetiere. "Coffee, anyone?" He poured himself a cup, feeling the weight of Jack's stare on his back. He grinned as he turned to face the captain. "Well, you said you'd do anything."

He blew on the hot liquid. _"I'll do anything, for you, Doc, anything, for you mean everything to me," _the Master sang, his eyes never leaving the stunned man before him.

He took a couple of playful steps toward Jack. _"I know that, I'll go anywhere, for your smile, anywhere - for your smile, ev'rywhere, I'd see." _

He tip-toed behind Jack, his voice blustering against the captain's skin. _"Would you kill my son? Anything. Shoot him with your gun? Anything. 'Till he's dead and done? Anything. Gosh, it sounds like fun. Yes, doesn't it." _

Jack turned away, his head bowed. The Master coughed, clearing his throat. "The father or the son, freak, your choice."

He took a sip of his coffee, grimacing. "Although, if I could influence you slightly, the boy's worth keeping just for his coffee making skills, oh, I'm sure he has other worthy attributes but still, this tastes like shit!" He shouted the last few words over his shoulder, their anger directed at some unseen minion.

"Jack, please." The Doctor's voice sounded desolate from within his fourth regeneration, the eccentricity of the man gone. "Don't." His eyes filled with a thousand sorrows.

"Yes, _Jack_, let's watch him suffer, it could be fun." The Master scraped the cup over the saucer. "Do you need to phone a friend?" He turned to Martha, his eyes betraying his delight at Jack's predicament. "Well, _Doctor Jones?"_

She ignored him. "Jack, there has to be another way." She looked down in thought. "The TARDIS he's using, it links them both, if we could find a way to destroy that…"

"Oooh, good one." The Master bounced on his heels as he whirled round to face the other Time Lord, his coffee slopping into the saucer. "But by doing that you'd only free the Doctor from the loop; I'm afraid he'd still be anchored to Mr Jones." He tipped the residue onto the carpet.

The curly haired Time Lord shook his head. "You'd also run the risk of killing us all…"

"All?" Martha asked.

"We're linked, the juvenile TARDIS included, it's sentient too, Martha, you can't just destroy it."

"To save you…" Her words were lost in a lone tear as the Doctor shook his head again.

"Oh, how heroic," the Master sneered, adding more coffee to his cup.

Jack swallowed. "Then give us another option." His eyes sort those of the Doctor. "Doc?" The whisper broke in his throat as the other man looked away.

"Let the memories overtake me, Jack, then Ianto will be free." He closed his eyes.

"But you'll be gone." Jack's fingers sort out the Doctor's face, but it was nothing but air.

"I've lived enough lives, Jack, wasted a few, even." He paused, closing his eyes against those inner demons of his thoughts. "Look at me; I'm so very tired of running, tired of looking in the mirror and seeing only death stare back at me…"

Jack slammed his fist into the skin of the image; it split into particles before reforming. "You can't give up on us, on Earth…"

The Doctor gave him a regretful smile. "I'm not, it has you, it has Torchwood. Maybe it's time it learnt to stand on its own two feet." He paused, looking down at his hands once more. "Don't kill my son, Jack, it will cost you dear."

"I, I, think I'm misting up here," the Master mocked, dabbing at his eyes with a napkin, before taking another sip of coffee.

Jack gripped the handle of the Webley, his mind shouting in quandary, the gun, his constant companion, suddenly burdensome and unfamiliar in his hand. A flare of red caught his eye as Neil entered the boardroom, dressed in a deep cardinal chemise and matching heels. He looked at the captain and smiled through scarlet lips. Jack did a double take, the split second process between eye and thought unable to comprehend the visual overload on so many levels.

"Harkness," Neil acknowledged, wallowing too much in the moment, his moment. He stepped aside so Jack could fully see Ianto stumbling between him and Andrews.

Jack took a moment to react, his mind absorbing the visible violence clouding Ianto's pale features in varying degrees of hurt. He was also dripping wet, water glazing his skin like a death mask, soaking through the denim blue boiler suit and pooling on the carpet where he stood.

Jack took a step forward, but Neil stopped him with the span of his hand. "All that piss and blood, had to hose him down, clean out all the nooks and crannies, dirty little whore." He raised his eyebrows suggestively. "He screamed like a girl."

Jack levelled the gun at Neil's head; pressing the barrel into his forehead and pulling the hammer back. "Aa aah, freak, not so fast," the Master reminded him, indicating to Martha.

Jack let the barrel slide laboriously from Down's brow, leaving a neat ring of discoloured skin. "Later," he threatened through bared teeth.

"In your dreams, Harkness," Neil responded, pushing him away.

"Neil, don't tease the freak, he has an important decision to make, unless you've forgotten, Captain?" The Master pulled out an empty chair and nodded for Down to take it.

"Jack?" Ianto looked at the Webley.

The captain swallowed. "He says if I kill you I'll save the Doctor."

Ianto turned to the watery shimmer of the image; his father stared back at him through pale eyes shrouded in remorse. This was the man who gave the universe to his mother with an offer of his hand, the man he was created from, the man she had saved.

There was nothing for them to say; all words fell short of the fused emotions they both shared. Pain. Hurt. Sorrow. Anguish.

Guilt.

This was his fault. He had destroyed his father by ripping those empty memories from him and giving them credence. He looked away, irony laughing at him through the Master's eyes. At last he had found the man behind the mask, not a saint or a sinner but a man as broken as the rest in an all too tragic universe.

"Ianto…" The Doctor's concern was evident, feeling the young man's turn of emotion.

"He's right," Ianto said, his eyes resting on Jack.

"Of course I am," the Master retorted with a snort.

"Kill me, save him. He's the only one who can stop the Master."

Ianto's plea pulled too deeply on Jack's heart. He went to say his name, to disagree but the Master cut through the lingering moment. "Kill the boy, save the world, freak," he echoed, adding sugar to his coffee and stirring it loudly.

"Jack, no, please." The Doctor pressed both hands against the barrier. "I've already lost one son."

The Master laughed, spitting coffee back into his cup. "I think murdered is the word you're looking for not, _lost_. _ Lost_ sounds like you mislaid him somewhere like a set of keys. 'Oh, have you seen Kellan, I had him a minute ago, oh, it's okay, he's down the back of the sofa!'" He took a sip of his drink; both Jack and Martha looked at him.

He placed a hand to his mouth, more to cover the smile than the feigned look of alarm. "Did I say something wrong? Surely you know he murdered his son in a fit of temper? It must have come up during your many travels with the man…"

"It wasn't like that," Ianto interrupted.

"No? What was it like then, Yan-to?" the Master baited, placing the cup and saucer back down. "You witnessed the memory, felt each and every aspect of his emotion; tell us, what was it like?"

Ianto looked to the Doctor, the anguish of the recollection causing his father to fluctuate once more. He shook his head. "I can't," he whispered, letting his gaze fall.

"Can't or won't?" the Master scoffed, stepping over to the captain. "What do ya think, _Jack_? Is your precious Doctor still worth saving? Ask him, ask him about the others, the Kraki, the Wenn, the Tuell; whole races destroyed by his hand…"

The Doctor cried out as the memories were torn from him. He collapsed to the floor of the TARDIS, each of his regenerations vying to materialise. "One bullet, freak, and you can stop his pain." The Master's voice could barely contain its excitement as he lifted Jack's leaden aim toward Ianto.

The captain followed the line of sight, his stare taking him directly into the assurance of younger man's eyes. "I'm just one life, Jack," Ianto whispered with a nod of his head.

Jack's gaze never faltered even if his arm trembled slightly; the Master steadied his Webley. "An insignificant life lived in the shadow his father. Put the boy out of his misery, freak, let his death mean something. After all, what is he to you but a convenient imitation, a part-time shag? Why settle for silver when you can have gold." His hand covered Jack's, their fingers overlapping the curve of the trigger.

Tick.

"Jack, don't do this." The Doctor's voice could not sway his aim.

Tock.

"Please."

Tick

"_At what cost, Jack?"_ Gwen's voice haunted his thoughts.

"_Any."_ His own reply had been unfaltering.

Tock.

A bead of sweat rolled down Jack's face.

Tick.

"_The Doctor's our only chance at defeating the Master and, at the moment, unless you can come up with something else, Ianto's our only advantage." _

Only they had lost that advantage.

Ianto was surplus to requirements.

Tock.

Ianto closed his eyes.

Tick.

Jack breathed in, swallowing back any uncertainty.

Tock.

The shot rang out.

A/N

My apologies for lack of updates lately. RL is throwing a few spanners that I'm trying to duck at the moment. Thank you for your patience and your continued support.


	22. To Know I'm Still Alive And I Walk Alone

**To Know I'm Still Alive And I Walk Alone – 22**

Ianto could still hear the thump of his heart pounding as the last vestiges of adrenalin seeped from his broken body. He was aware of voices, loud and echoing, and aware of the gnawing pain. Yet he felt disconnected from the reality erupting all around, choosing to stay in the impunity of the shadows that surrounded him.

Darkness obscured the actuality of the present like the heavy velvet cloth that shrouded the contours of the conspicuous object in front of him. Ianto reached out and pulled it from its tall apex, letting it drop and pool around his feet to reveal a heavily gilded, cheval mirror. He stepped back, his own sepia refection studying him from within the glass which was spotted and fogged with age.

"_You can't save me, Ianto." _

The lone voice stirred his consciousness.

"Doctor?" Ianto's own voice sagged against the darkness.

His father's face bevelled the surface of the mirror as he stepped through it. He was ghost like, a shinning white form, his feature's smooth and bearing no resemblance to any of his regenerations.

"_You can't save us." _The young TARDIS joined them both in a shower of sparkling light, bending the long shadows around them.

"_You could not save me." _ The voice was detached and sorrowful in its lament, haunting his thoughts with its anguished cry, but Ianto recognised it as Lucy Cole.

She was gone. Nothing but a thought caught in the current of his memories. _"I could not save me." _ The sound carried back into the smothering darkness.

"'_Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.'" _Owen, Tosh and Gwen's faces danced on the flux of their words, gliding white against the pitch of his mind before crystallising and shattering into ice particles.

"_Save yourself, Ianto."_ Another voice joined the chorus. Ianto turned back to the mirror; his mother's reflection stared back at him. He touched the glass, tracing her outline with childhood fingers.

"_You're good at that."_ Harold Saxon joined his mother's image behind the glass.

"_Ianto."_

Something brushed his cheek.

"_Ianto."_

A thumb?

"Ianto."

He could smell gunpowder. He could smell…

"Jack?" He cracked opened his eyes; Jack smiled down at him.

It took a moment for his senses to become cognisant, rushing back like the spill of water over a cliff. "You missed." Ianto's brow furrowed with the statement.

Jack's grin sloped off to one side. "Hit the wall, go figure…"

"Jack…"

"We'll find another way." The look on his face left little room for argument.

"Let me help you up." Jack took his hand; Ianto winced at the touch, the cigar burns between his fingers making their presence known.

Jack stared at the blistering skin, turning Ianto's hand gently in his own to examine the damage. "Jack…"

The captain shot him a look, daring him to say he was fine, his anger building as he gnawed the inside of his cheek. "This isn't over," Jack growled, looking towards Neil. Down snorted and continued to sweeten his drink with several spoons of sugar.

"Well, it is for the Doctor," the Master replied. "And I must say, I'm just a little disappointed with you, freak. Although I'm not surprised, after all you're just a cliché in a coat, thinking with your dick and not your brain." He cocked a suggestive eyebrow as he blew on his coffee. Neil gave a suppressed giggle that seemed a little gaudy from the sheen of his unattractive mouth.

The Master gave him a tolerant smile. "Now, gentlemen, let's have breakfast shall we? I've a lot to get through this morning. I'm a very busy wom…" He contemplated the slip and smiled. "Man."

Jack helped Ianto ease himself off the floor, his grip steadying the younger man as he swayed slightly. "And how you going to explain that one? People are gonna notice Lucy's missing."

The Master placed his cup down and gave a cheery clap of his hands. "Oh, I'm counting on it, freak, after all, I can't play the grieving fiancé unless poor Lucy's gone."

He walked toward the two men. Jack's hand went protectively to Ianto's shoulder, pulling him closer. "You see, Harold Saxon will inform the nation of the murder of our beloved Lucy at the hands of Torchwood and the government because she threatened to expose their dealings with alien regimes." He smiled. "Youtube's a wonderful thing, and the public loves a good conspiracy."

"That's a lot for people to take in," Jack retorted.

"Oh, but I have such an honest face, freak, that's why people believe me, that's why they voted _me_ Prime Minister."

"They didn't just vote you in, you used the Archangel network to manipulate them." Martha's voice still held the venom from that year.

"Okay, so I cheated. But if it worked once…."

"Maybe you're forgetting the network's been dismantled," Martha challenged as she too stirred her coffee, making a whirlpool of her frustration.

"Oh contraire, Doctor Jones, as you and UNIT both know, some of it is still functioning." He waggled a finger in her direction. "And it doesn't need to be fully operational." He walked to Jack and pressed the same finger against his temple. "You see, I'm still in here, in your dreams and, in your nightmares." His voice clawed at Jack's subconscious, burrowing through to the depth of his own memories.

The Master smiled as his finger started to make hard circles against Jack's skin as if he was trying to massage all that torment to the surface. "Your minds are so limited; you occupy such a small percentage of their fragile filigree that it seems such a waste not to take advantage of all that vacant space and fill it with indicative thought."

"Your will." Ianto cut in.

"Such a bright boy." The Master removed his touch from Jack and let his fingertips slide down Ianto's cheek. "I wonder which side you take after, hmm?"

"You're going to use the Lar-Nar stones." The Doctor's voice was soft in resignation as he pressed his hands against the film of the wall. "And use the network to amplify their effect."

The Master looked down at the ring on his finger. "Of course. Soon I will be immortalised in the public's mind and Lucy." He tilted his head at Ianto. "Lucy will become a martyr to the cause. All it takes is one hit, one person, and everything will spiral from there."

Ianto felt his father's concern hit him in a wave of emotion; he fell against Jack. "You know the power they hold; by intensifying their strength you'll fry the cerebral cortex…" The Doctor's voice was weak, his eyes seemingly wide against his ashen features.

"Yes, there will some downsizing of the population, about twenty percent, give or take…"

"How can you be so blasé?" Martha asked, gripping the handle of her spoon.

"Oh, I don't know, it's a knack given I don't really care." He shrugged. "It's like pouring boiling water on an ants' nest." Again he watched the light dance on the blood red stones.

Jack followed his gaze. "What are these stones?"

"A terrible price to pay for great power and knowledge." The Doctor remained downcast as he slid to the floor.

The Master ignored him, answering Jack's question himself. He held the ring near the captain's face. "The Lar-Nar were an embittered race, stuck on an inhospitable planet at the frozen edge of the universe. They wanted so much more but were unfortunate not to be blessed with the tools for conquest or great vision. So, they sent emissaries out into the shadow regions, the place in between the light and the dark, where both dreams and nightmares are born, where time is created and all knowledge resides." He paused for effect. "None of the emissaries came back, lost for all eternity in the bloodless boundary that carves the soul from a man and leaves him in limbo forever."

For a brief moment bloated faces became evident in the reflective surface of the stones polished hue. The Master smiled. "Then, one dark night a shadow stepped out from within that boundary to walk in the footsteps of all mortal beings, a bringer of darkness with a mischievous tongue and a hunger for blood."

Screams emanated from the ring in a spiralling vortex of conflict and death. Jack was drawn to the dread of their echo, mesmerized as the sound crept into the beat of his heart.

The Master continued. "This Loki spoke in words of velvet, with cushioned promises of great power and wealth and the Lar-Nar lapped up every syllable and false smile." He flexed his fingers making the gems dance in varying shades of red.

"So the being offered them the ability to look into the souls of others, to see their hidden thoughts and manipulate that talent for advantage and gain. The Lar-Nar accepted the creature's gift readily and without forethought of consequence.

"'Then it is done,' it uttered with a great theatrical roar as the sparsely populated planet was engulfed in a blinding light that seared each and everyone of the Lar-Nars' forehead, giving them a third yet dormant eye." The Master spread out his hands like an evangelist preaching before the converted.

"'But we feel no different,' the Lar-Nar chorused as they touched the sightless eye upon their questioning brows." The Master mimicked the action and Jack felt an emptiness and regret stir from the facets of the stones.

"The creature laughed," the Master continued, "and drew a sword and cut down one of their many leaders. The man screamed in death and the eye opened, revealing the jewel beneath the lid.

"'Only the eyes of the dead can see into the souls of the living,' the shadow being exclaimed, plucking the stone from the dying man's forehead and handing it to his fellow. The Lar-Nar felt the reach of the stone as it stretched into the minds of those gathered, crowding his brain and pushing him into insanity and death. The gem turned to dust as the man fell and his compatriots fought for the stone forming on their dying comrade's forehead."

"That's one hell of a fairytale," Jack said, but the harsh glint of the stones bore the truth in the Master's tale.

"It's no story, Jack," the Doctor whispered as his face contorted into the old man he once was. "The Lar-Nar were all but wiped out once word of their ability spread through the universe, until they were put under the protection of the Shadow Proclamation and use of the gems banned throughout the known galaxies."

"Their gift became their curse," Ianto reflected.

"For them, dear boy, for them," the Master replied with a huge smile.

"Now, how about a cup of coffee? I'm parched." He grabbed Ianto's arm and yanked him towards a chair; Jack followed, sitting close to the younger man.

"Neil, would you be so kind as to be mother?" The Master continued taking his place at the head of the table. "And may I just take this opportunity to say, you look a vision in red." Neil gave a coyish smile as he picked up the cafetiere.

The Master continued, addressing the rest of the table. "You have to admire him, he's wrestling with his sexuality and doing a very good job at _handling_ it, aren't you, Neil?" Down reddened, spilling coffee down the side of one of the cups.

"Tut, tut, Neil, it's all in the wrist." The Master gestured with a pouring motion.

"Yes, sir." Neil kept his gaze on the table cloth as he shoved both Jack and Ianto's coffee towards them. Over by the wall Andrews could hardly contain a hardened smirk.

"Oh, hang on," the Master cried as he rolled a plastic straw across the table at Ianto. "I wouldn't want you to miss out on our first breakfast all together, although the coffee's an affliction in itself, for which I must apologise."

Jack picked up the straw and looked at Ianto. "Unless you want to feed me?" The young man posed, turning his injured hands over.

Jack gave a wicked grin. "I always did enjoy that scene in 9½ Weeks."

Ianto, in turn, gave a predictive eye roll. "Think of the mess."

"Oh yeah, and the fun cleaning it up." Jack waggled his eyebrows.

Ianto smiled, for the first time in what seemed days, it hurt, but it felt good. Jack shared the moment, his own self benefiting from that one small gesture that made him want to break the world in two just to kiss those bruised and bloodied lips.

The Doctor felt it too; that emotion whispering to him in the darkness of his mind hushed and soft like the cadence of a poem to a lover. He clung to its light.


	23. I Walk Alone 3

**I Walk Alone - 23**

The Master bit into a croissant, sending flakes of pastry tumbling onto his plate.

"Martha," he chastised, "I see you're still not eating…"

"I'm…"

"Hush, dear, not when I'm talking. Let me get one of these for you. Plain, I think." He reached across the table to an oval platter of warm croissants and put one on his plate.

The Master deftly cut into it lengthways with all the skill of a vivisectionist before liberally spreading the steaming insides with softened butter and strawberry jam. He placed the shaped pastry on her plate and sucked the mix of sugar and grease from his fingers.

"There, wouldn't want you to waste away."

"How kind," Martha replied bitterly, looking down at the flaky crescent and the butter and jam oozing from it.

"Now, what shall we talk about, hmm?" The Master took a bite of his own pastry; chocolate leaked from its multiple layers; he wiped it away with a paper napkin.

"I know," he said, rolling the serviette into a tight ball, "Canary Wharf!"

_Canary Wharf._

_Canary Wharf._

It bounced off the walls, filling the room with its brutal memories.

Canary Wharf. The name wielded guilt like a sword.

Canary Wharf.

The Master's grin widened. "Let's see, both Neil and Yan-to worked there, the Doctor did the whole, 'save the Earth thing', and Captain Hard-on cleaned up the mess." He threw the ball of paper onto the table; it gradually began to relax against its shape.

He turned to face Martha. "And you, you had a cousin who worked there, Ade…?" He clicked his fingers to recall the name.

"Adeola," she whispered in reply.

_Adeola_. Martha closed her eyes; she had seen death in many guises as a doctor, as a friend, as a lone rebel on a scared Earth, but Adeola's was the first that had left its mark.

"You were close?" the Master asked, his eyes following each minute expression on her face.

"Yes." She looked at him, her eyes dark with emotion.

"Such a shame, such a waste of life," he consoled, looking toward Ianto. "That could have easily been avoided."

"No." Martha's denial was resounding. "No," she repeated, as if no one had heard her the first time. "You cannot change the past…"

"Whose past?" the Master shot back.

This time Martha met Ianto's stare. "_The past_," she clarified with certainty. "We cannot alter events, however much it hurts us just to stand by and do nothing."

The Master sat back, curious. "You know, then?"

Martha's eyes remained on Ianto. "Yes."

"And you readily forgive this boy, this coward?" the Master mused, leaning forward to retrieve his cup.

"There is nothing to forgive." Her heartfelt declaration was only for Ianto.

Yes, he had told her, a lifetime ago, in the back of a clapped out 1986 Volvo, in the middle of a icy, barren winter when mankind's second coming was as merciless and cold as the weather.

She closed her eyes. Even now she could smell the tangy aroma of cheese and onion crisps and taste the sweetened boost from the cola that had partially frozen due to the falling temperature. She still remembered sucking every trace of flavour from her fingers with the delight of a person use to living off scraps and handouts.

Six packets of cheese and onion crisps, a bottle of shop's own cola and a Coleman Hudson sleeping bag; Ianto had remarked, with a small quirk of an eyebrow, what a cheap date she was. Then again, wearing coats against the cold and sharing a sleeping bag seemed to be a common theme for him when it came to dating.

Martha smiled across at him. It was a moment they had shared, their moment, torn from the horror, snatched from death. A moment when they had needed to feel alive, when they had wanted more than just surviving in a world turned to steel and stone and baptised in blood.

"Ah, I see now," the Master said smiling over the rim of his cup. Both Ianto and Martha looked away from his intrusive gaze.

"Must have brought back happy memories for you, Mr Jones," he quizzed, favouring one arm of the chair and crossing his legs. "Lisa Hallet?" The name seemed tainted falling from his lips. "But don't worry, at least _she _didn't die in vain."

There was something damning in those few words that made Ianto looked up, a feeling of dread darkening his thoughts.

"While you were being entertained by Neil, here, I found myself down in the vaults." The Master turned to Jack. "Really, freak, I thought you'd have more sense than to put up a sign saying, 'authorised personnel only', hello, that just screams, 'secret shit through here'." He gave quick shake of his head before continuing. "Anyway, I get restless, you see, unable to sleep and I find myself _tinkering_." He waggled his fingers before jumping up and placing a headset behind his ear. Coffee slopped from his cup as he plonked it on the table in his enthusiasm.

The Master grinned as the blue light on the headset blinked in readiness and beside him Jack felt Ianto tense.

The room fell into silence as something stirred out of sight of the main area: a mechanical hiss, the rhythmic sound of metallic footfalls, heavy against the floor. They all turned their attention to the anteroom where a silhouette stood framed against the entrance.

"Oh God," Ianto gasped in horror as he stood, letting the table take his weight as he leant forward.

Jack followed his lead, gripping the younger man's shoulders. "It was rendered inoperative…"

_It. _Ianto glanced at Jack.

"Ah, well, I am a genius," the Master informed them, walking toward the statuesque figure.

_It_ stepped into the boardroom. Sturdy steel armature caught the light, polished to a reflective brilliance and complimenting the dark, bare, flesh that lay under its fortifying exoskeleton.

Flesh - a reminder that this had once been a human being, that the soft skin trapped beneath the mask of metal had once been receptive to touch; his touch.

Lisa.

Ianto almost uttered her name, but Jack stopped him, his breath glancing against his ear. "It's not her, not anymore. It's a mindless piece of machinery."

_It. It. It. _

_Lisa_.

Ianto's mind tumbled. He shook his head. He knew she was gone; she had ceased to be, but…. He closed his eyes, turning into Jack's shoulder. But standing here, before him, this metallic carcass, this synthetic imitation, was she...? Was _it_ still…?

Alive?

Ianto's memory jumped.

'_Some elements have been augmented, some are still human. Sensory capacity for instance, her breathing and hearing appears completely cybernetic and yet there's also bare flesh…' _DrTanizaki's voice stole into his thoughts.

'_Bare flesh_.'

Warm to the touch.

'_Still human.'_

Almost.

He looked up into her unblinking stare, her eyes vacant, blank, no trace of humanity, no trace of…

Lisa.

His mind cart wheeled in surplus thought.

"_Ianto." _The Doctor's voice pushed through the emotion in his mind. _"Listen to Jack, it's not her."_

It.

He glanced at his father who stood leaning into the barrier. His appearance had changed again, his face showing his seventh regeneration.

"Ah, touché, Captain Jack, of course there's nobody home," the Master applauded as he banged on the metal casing covering Lisa's head.

No, not Lisa, not anymore. Lisa had hair.

"_It's short," Ianto had commented, looking up from the ruby._

"_It's cropped," she corrected, jumping onto his lap, blocking the game._

"_Lisa." He tried to look back at the screen._

"_Well?" she'd pressed, taking the beer bottle from his hand and drinking from it._

_He sighed, running his fingers through the newly tussled crop. "You look beautiful." He smiled to show his sincerity. _

_She arched an eyebrow. "Really?" _

"_Really." _

_He'd kissed her lips. He never watched the end of the game._

The Master placed his arm around 'Lisa's' neck, addressing those at the table. _"'I could while away the hours, conferrin' with the flowers, consultin' with the rain. And my head I'd be scratchin' while my thoughts were busy hatchin' if I only had a brain.'" _

He knocked on her head once more. "But maybe that's not a bad thing given how emotional you ladies can get." He looked at Martha with raised eyebrows waiting for a reaction.

Martha remained silent, her attention drawn to the cyber being in front of her. She couldn't help but think of Adeola and the empty coffin they'd placed in the ground. Is this how she had ended up? Metal grafted on her body, all human functions, all that made her who she was, lost to wires and circuitry. There was no death, no peace, just mind and body bonded in machinery.

"Oh God," she whispered. "Did she know?" Martha looked towards the Doctor who had the face of a stranger.

The Doctor knew, instinctively, what she was asking. "They were fitted with an emotional inhibitor, to stop them realising…"

"But what about before the conversion process, would she, would Adeola have known?"

"If she was converted." Martha turned to Ianto's voice. "I was there, remember, people fought against them and if she was anything like you, she would have fought." He held her gaze, anchoring her emotions, even now, faced with his own ghosts, he was comforting her.

Martha bowed her head. "She would have fought," she acknowledged, clinging to Ianto's words.

He gave her a small smile and she nodded her gratitude. "She would have."

"Wow, this is better than Oprah," the Master exclaimed, putting his arm around 'Lisa's' shoulders. "Maybe, Dr Jones, you'd like to find out what your cousin went through, first hand, eh?" He grinned at her. "We could call it, oh, I don't know, _payback; _I think you and Lisa here would compliment each other beautifully."

"No!" Both Ianto and the Doctor shouted in unison.

The Master ignored them. "Of course you'd have to wait a while, _Lisa, _here is just a prototype, basically like a thought controlled car with legs." He spread his hand over the headset. "'My mind to your mind, my thoughts…' Well, more like, 'my mind to your circuitry, my will to be obeyed,' but you get the general gist. You know the more I think about it, the more I like the idea. Tell me, Martha, do you look good in silver? I'm not too sure about the colour, maybe a metallic blue or a British racing green?" He ran his hands over the steel of Lisa's body.

"Don't touch her!" Ianto couldn't help himself.

"Why? She's the property of Torchwood after all, just a piece of alien technology that fell through the rift, isn't that right, freak?" The Master turned to Jack.

Jack squeezed Ianto's shoulder and took a step forward. "Yeah, to stop it falling into the wrong hands, we know how dangerous those things are."

"And yet you didn't destroy it?" He held Jack's gaze.

"No."

"I curious to know why?" The Master's smile was almost sunny.

Jack looked away as his own memories stirred and surfaced.

"_When she got hold of you, I thought, just for a moment, I thought that maybe you could die after all." Gwen was anxious, looking for reassurance._

_Jack turned from the huge pane of glass overlooking the Hub, overlooking Ianto. "Wanna know a secret?"_

_She nodded. "Huh huh." _

"_So did I, and just for a second there I felt, so alive." _

Jack glared at the Master. "The Cyber technology could have its uses in the future."

The Master laughed. "What for - amputees? What a waste when I have a better use for them."

"As what?" Ianto asked, trying to control his emotions.

"Every great emperor needs his own Praetorian Guard," the Master replied.

"With no will of their own," Martha injected.

"And your point is?" The Master spread his hands. "Come on, Dr Jones, history is littered with coup d'ètat and not only on this planet. Better to air on the side of caution, don't you think?"

His grin broadened. "While you still can, I'd make the most of it,_ thinking_ that is."

"You're a real bastard," Jack snarled at him, easing Ianto back down into his seat.

The Master turned to look at the Doctor. "Oh no, freak, I'm not the bastard." There was a trace of acrimony in his voice.

The Doctor's fifth regeneration stared back at him. "You know how risky activating one of those things can be. If you want a history lesson, remember Mondas, remember how the Cybermen were constantly upgrading themselves." His palms pushed against the barrier.

The Master waved away his concerns. "Hello, INHIBITER and it isn't even sentient, it's just an inanimate collection of integrated circuits tuned to my will. Look."

Lisa walked purposely toward the table, each footfall stabbing at Ianto's heart. "More coffee, Mr Jones?" the Master enquired.

She,_ it,_ stood over Ianto yet he couldn't bring himself to look up at _her_ face. Instead he tried to concentrate on the coffee stain ballooning on the table cloth like the spill of blood. _ Lisa_ bent down and gripped the cafetière and Ianto found himself drawn to her, _its_, hands.

'_It's just an inanimate collection of integrated circuits…'_

How many times had he held those hands when the pain had got too much? Bonded skin and metal, both cold and warm to touch, an inhuman combination, and yet blood still pulsed through their network of veins.

Her fingers curled around the insulated handle, her strength crushing it.

When had they last been human?

When was the last time her touch had been truly hers?

_Ianto had been awake for most of the night staring at the ceiling - Lisa's breathing and his heartbeat the only sound in those twilight hours. He moved the quilt down and placed his hands behind his head, following the circles in the artex visible in the dawn._

_He swallowed, his throat dry with the grip of his emotions; today the ghost shifts would turn to death. _

_He had lived with this moment for so long, constantly pushing it back so it wouldn't tear him apart, but now, it was here. _

_The patterns above turned into faces, colleagues making holiday plans, Jenny trying to organise her wedding in two weeks, Gavin showing everyone the ultra sound of his twins…_

_He shut his eyes. He didn't have to face this, he could call his uncle, tell him the truth, tell him…_

_Even in the darkness of his mind those haunting shadows stretched, worrying him with their unanswered questions._

_How many would die?_

_How many would be converted?_

_He opened his eyes, staring at the dark grey thread of a cobweb caught on the stippling. _

_He should have stayed away; he shouldn't have got so involved, so close. _

"_You're not sleeping." Lisa voice was drowsy as her fingers made patterns on chest. She nuzzled closer._

_Ianto turned away, looking to the open window. In the upstairs apartment the door slammed and Matteo led his bike down the staircase. The wheels made a ticking noise as the spokes went round and round. Five o'clock, Matteo always leaves at five o'clock, cycling into the city, to do? Ianto had no idea._

_Tick._

_Tick._

_Tick._

_If only he could stop the clock. He frowned. _

"_Ianto?" Lisa looked up from his shoulder, her fingers winding his chest hair._

_He placed one arm around her. "Lisa, let's not go into work today…"_

_She shook her head. "The ghost shifts, I can't, James needs me." She unconsciously traced his nipple. _

'_I need you.' That small voice inside cried out. 'I need you to be safe.'_

_He moved her fringe back and kissed her forehead. "Just one day, Lisa, please." She looked at him but Ianto turned back to the early light at the window. _

"_Ianto, what's wrong?" She propped herself up on her elbow._

_He threaded their fingers together, pale through dark, interwoven, linked by touch, linked by…_

'_You could die today,' his heart screamed._

_Instead he shrugged. "Nothing."_

"_Oh come on, babe, you've hardly slept, what's worrying you? Is it the ghost shifts?" Her fingers carried on making soft, comforting, circles on his skin._

_He watched the voile curtain float ghost like against the breeze. "We have no idea what they are." He shifted slightly. "They could be dangerous."_

"_Yvonne knows what she's doing."_

_Yvonne? When had it changed from Hartman?_

_He laughed a little. "I'm not so sure she does."_

"_Ianto, come on, aren't you just a little curious as to what they are? The only way we can study these apparitions is though the shifts." The excitement bubbled in her voice._

_He closed his eyes. "Maybe some things are better left unknown," he replied quietly._

_Lisa sat up, covering herself with the quilt and pushing back into the headboard; it banged loudly against the wall. She folded her arms around the duvet. "And you know my department's being working flat out to make sure they're no threat."_

_Ianto rolled onto his side. "I know," he whispered. _

_She looked at him, her fingers reaching down to toy with his hair; her voice soft. "This is important to me; Yvonne's so much as said this is my ticket to a grade three. You know how badly I want this promotion." She relaxed her head back on the wall. "I'm not like you, Ianto, I'm not content to stay in the same position waiting for someone to notice me."_

'_Or not,' Ianto's mind added._

"_This is my chance to prove I'm good enough to take on a more senor role and believe me, babe, chances like this don't come around often for a young, black woman."_

_Ianto looked away; Lisa squeezed his hand. "We'll do it another day, okay, call in sick and stay in bed 'til teatime watching CBeebies, Trisha and Diagnoses Murder, but not today, I just can't."_

_He wanted to tell her, take her by the shoulders and scream at her that there may not be another day, that Torchwood London would probably crumble._

_But he couldn't._

_Instead Ianto watched her run naked to the small kitchenette and pop some bread in the toaster. She looked over at him and smiled. "Tea or coffee?" she asked, flicking the switch on the kettle. _

"Ianto?" Jack's hand gripped his arm bringing him back to the terrible cost of his own selfishness.

'Lisa' tipped the cafetière missing their cups completely; coffee flooded the table.

"I hear Starbucks are hiring," Jack said, moving both himself and Ianto back from the flow of hot liquid. "They do in-house training, maybe you should consider…"

'Lisa' dropped the cafetière; it clattered angrily to the floor, splattering its contents on those closest. Neil stood, scraping his chair back as the scorching liquid hit his bare legs and deepened the red of the chemise. Lisa stepped forward and grabbed Jack's shoulder squeezing through skin and muscle, making him yell out in pain.

"And maybe serving coffee isn't her forte," the Master replied eagerly.

"Really? And she was doing so well," Jack managed to grind out as he felt the force of her grip crush his shoulder joint; he fell to his knees in the pool of coffee, while in the background Neil giggled with delight.

Ianto was on autopilot, flashes of all that had gone before raging in his mind, Jack's own suffering melting into the noise of his memories. He heard his father's warning voice somewhere in the mêlée but he couldn't distinguish it from all the other ghosts of Canary Wharf.

He stepped forward with little regard for his own safety, but Martha was there, with a perception beyond her years, arm to his chest, holding him to her, holding him back. He looked at her, eyes full of pain, willing her to let him face the _thing_ he had once loved.

"Jack can't die," she whispered softly into his ear.

"Oh, but I bet it's fun to watch," Neil said as he sponged the coffee from his silk chemise.

Ianto ignored his comment. "Yes he can, he just doesn't stay dead." His voice was barely audible over the crush of bone.

Suddenly Lisa's fingers relaxed and she straightened, her whole unit shutting down. Martha moved Ianto carefully to one side and crouched down next to Jack. He batted her administrations away with an awkward grin, getting to his feet. "Guess Santa forgot to put extra batteries in your stocking."

Both Martha and Ianto gave the captain an exasperated look as she helped him back into his chair.

"You won't be so lucky next time, freak, not when I have the conversion chamber up and running," the Master warned.

"Now that I did destroy," Jack answered a little too confidently.

The Master laughed as he cast the headset onto the table. "But not the schematics engrained in dear Mr Jones's subconscious. I found it while I was routing about in there." He crossed his arms as if pondering some great mystery. "I wonder, freak, if you could survive a full conversion? Shall we see? You'd make a nice addition to my personal guard. In fact, maybe I could furnish the whole unit with ex-companions and think of a catchy name for you all: _The Master and his Cyber Companions_."

"Hardly catchy or awe inspiring," Jack retorted with a hiss of pain as he cradled his damaged shoulder with his hand.

The Master selected another chocolate croissant from the table, examining it lightly in his hand. "No, it needs little work," he conceded.

He picked out a chocolate chip and bit it between his teeth. "Neil!" He gave a frustrated sigh, watching the other man frantically dab at the coffee stains on his chemise. "Will you stop fussing and go and change, or so help me I'll convert you myself with a butter knife and a teaspoon!"

Neil immediately dropped the balled-up serviette to the floor, joining the small nest of others around his deep red stilettos; his face flushed a similar colour. "Yes, sir." He quickly nodded and left the boardroom, his shoes clicking his hasty withdrawal.

The Master tore another piece off his croissant and seated himself on the edge of the table by Ianto. He deliberately took his time to finish the layered pastry, milling it slowly between his teeth, his eyes never straying from the young man. He smiled. "You have a very orderly mind, Mr Jones."

Ianto waited as the Master split the remains of the pastry in half. "Nice little methodical compartments shut away behind chronically numbered doors." He held up the two pieces before placing the larger in his mouth.

"But," he continued, chewing lightly, "there are small pockets that seem to be empty, cleared of thought." He swallowed, bending closer to Ianto. "Except, small, fragmented, traces of _something_." Ianto could smell the bitter aroma of plain chocolate upon the other man's breath.

The Master tapped Ianto's forehead with an outstretched finger. "It's a bit like licking round the cake bowl and getting just a taste of the uncooked mixture, when you desire so much more." He pushed last half of croissant into his mouth.

"I don't know…" Ianto began.

"Who's Waverly?" The Master's voice was soothing as he followed the line of the young man's eyebrow with his thumb.

The Doctor, from the stretched torment of his second regeneration, felt the gentle buzz of the name through Ianto's emotions, but it was sketchy and obscured.

"Waverly?" Ianto frowned, unable to shy away from the Master's touch.

"Yes, Waverly," the Master prompted, watching him carefully. "It seemed…" he thought for a moment, "…important."

There it was again, the Doctor felt a faint hint of….

…An illegible signature on an official document.

…Cheese rolls and sea gulls.

…Of something known and reliable.

'_Rage, rage against the dying of the light.'_

Ianto shook his head. "The only Waverly I can think of is Alexander Waverly the head of U.N.C.L.E. I used to watch the series as a boy." He looked at the Master, holding is own against the Time Lord's stare. "It was very important to me back then."

Again the Doctor felt something stir in Ianto's subconscious, but it was just an empty echo, something that had been, a flicker of something familiar, a voice, a smell…

'_I hope you're out there, Waverly.' _ The Doctor turned into the shadow of the memory as it dissipated into bitty fragments on his skin.

'_I hope you're out there, Waverly.'_

Jack remembered Ianto's quiet petition too and he knew the expression on the Master's face, he had seen it too many times before. "Who was you favourite?" he asked, realising the danger.

The Master glanced at Jack as Ianto broke eye contact to look at the captain. "Sorry?"

"Oh come on, Ianto, you must have had a favourite, Solo or Kuryakin?" He met Ianto's stare.

The young man blinked. "Kuryakin."

Jack grinned despite his obvious pain. "Did you know Ian based the character of Napoleon Solo on yours truly?"

"You knew Ian Fleming?" There was a slight scepticism in Ianto's voice.

Jack would have shrugged if it hadn't been for his shoulder. "I met him when he was in Naval Intelligence, stayed a couple of times at Goldeneye."

"Enough!" As Ianto was in reach, the Master backhanded him across the face, his annoyance an ugly grimace.

The force of the blow sent Ianto sideways in the chair, the Master's ring carving a bloody imprint on the young man's cheek. Jack let out a guttural growl and pushed himself from his seat but the Master had his laser screwdriver to hand and pointed it in Martha's direction, although his eyes never left those of Ianto.

"I only have to press the button, freak, and Dr Jones will join the coffee stain on the carpet. Now, Yan-to, who's Waverly, hm?"

Ianto met and held the Master's stare unperturbed. "A fictional character played by Leo. G Carroll…"

The Master gripped Ianto by the collar of the boiler suit, twisting the material with his free hand. "I don't believe you." His stare probed deeper as he brought the young man nearer his face.

Ianto remained stoic. "Really, why don't you find out? You're so apt reading our memories."

"Maybe I will, seeing as you asked so politely."

'_No.' _The Doctor tired to warn his son of the danger, but his voice was lost in his next transformation, yielding itself instead to an agonising scream.

The Master laughed, letting go of Ianto and turning to Jack. "And to think you could have saved him all that pain, freak. And for what, eh?" His fingertips brushed Ianto's cheek, smearing the seep of blood across his skin. "This boy, this half breed, this pale imitation of a man you can never have." He snorted. "Or be. He is nothing but an accident of time, a stain on the fabric of the universe."

"An imperfect being that got the better of you," Ianto baited, "and it was so easy."

The Master's hand seized Ianto's face. "You, you could never outwit me!"

The young man didn't flinch but smiled. "But I did, during _that_ year," he answered. "You were so focused on catching Martha, so focused on your petty revenge, that you let the real threat go unhindered."

"You." The realisation seemed to infuriate the Master.

"Me."

The Master's breathing quicken as he brought the laser screwdriver to Ianto's temple. "Who. Is. Waverly?" he asked again.

Ianto remained silent.

"Very well, I will try and make this as painful as possible."

The Master pressed again into the young man's mind with a relentless vigour, scouring every seam of memory and decimating the precious sanctity of thought. The pain was merciless as each and every one of Ianto's recollections unified in an explosion of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. Yet, he gave the Master a free rein, when he could so readily have fought him on every level, allowing him access and damning himself to the reckless psyche of the unstable Time Lord.

But he knew what he was doing.

He knew that as the Master broadened his search he would leave a little of himself behind, opening up a pathway through the tangled layers of his own darkening mind.

So Ianto waited, watching as the Master's own memories unlocked in rapid psychotic flashes, their rationale all fire and burning, governed by self interest and the whisper of insanity and he felt every inch of the Master's being, every twist and turn, every heartbeat, real and missed.

It became unbearable, stifling but still he journeyed through their tightly woven threads, spiralling deeper and deeper into the inky blackness of the Master's soul.

And there it was.

A plain black obsidian mirror, its simple border trying to hold back all the Master's insecurities reflected on its polished surface. Erratic whispers and mummers, revolved and spun around, twisting in the Master's paranoia, resonating into thorny barbs that taunted his volatile subconscious. They grew louder, a crescendo of voices, becoming more than their original intent, playing on his instability and breaking through the volcanic glass in hurried snatches of conversations. Ianto felt like he was drowning in there timbre as their echo washed over him. He covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut as their ghosts rushed by.

"Ianto?" Only one lone voice remained.

The Doctor stood behind him, hand resting on his shoulder but Ianto looked instead at the image left on the obsidian. He reached out and touched the likeness; it was as cold as the rock.

"You never told me." He spoke to his father, his eyes never leaving the form trapped in memory. "You always keep a part of yourself hidden." There was no blame, just a simple resignation.

He turned to face the Doctor and for a moment there was nothing between them, father and son laid bare like a mirror image of each other. The Doctor tore himself away to look into the dark glass, drawn to the shadow of the resemblance. It wasn't obvious but it was there in a gesture or a look, just under the surface of a smile, just in the colour of his eyes. _His_ eyes.

'_The whole is more than the sum of its parts.'_

And Ianto was the sum of all of them.

The Doctor stepped forward. "Ianto what are you doing?"

"Ending this."

The Doctor looked between his son and the obsidian mirror. "No, you can't…" He faltered. "You can't use this."

"Why?"

"Because it's all in his…" He stopped.

"Mind?" Ianto finished for him.

They stared at each other. The Doctor swallowed. "You have no idea what you'll unleash."

Ianto looked at him with eyes beyond his years. "Yes, yes I do."

'_Kill me, save him. He's the only one who can stop the Master.'_ Ianto's words troubled the Doctor.

"No, don't do this, not for me."

Ianto closed his eyes. "There are some things you just can't save." He turned and stepped into the mirror, gazing at the Doctor through someone else's eyes as around them the boardroom came into view.

The Master let go of Ianto's face but not before he saw…

He stumbled back, knocking into the table. His mind clouded, his eyes seeing the spectre of his past staring back at him as Ianto used every ounce of his being to manipulate the Master's deranged psyche.

"Waverly is the reason your plan will fail, just like you always fail, because you're just not clever enough." Ianto spoke, but the Master heard a different voice.

"Ianto, stop." The Doctor pushed against the film of the barrier, his face collapsing into another persona.

Jack looked into the varying colours of the Doctor's eyes, seeing his distress, feeling the cold sweep of apprehension. He grabbed Ianto's arm but

The young man turned away from him. "But then again, you've always been inferior, haven't you? He's always been brighter."

"No!" The Master shook his head.

"You've always been second best." Ianto's eyes met the Master's. "Second best at everything." Jack gripped the material of the boiler suit but somehow it slipped through his fingers.

"No!" The Master's denial was furious. "I was the first!"

"Yes, but you were so flawed."

The Master broke eye contact, seeing only what Ianto wanted him to see. He turned his back, leaning against the table for support as the other voices of his paranoia haunted him.

Whispering.

"No." His hand curled around a butter knife.

"Highly strung."

"No." Cold metal in his grasp, comforting.

"An embarrassment."

The Master's head jerked round. Laughter. He could hear them _all _laughing at him. His grip on the knife intensified. "Shut up!"

The Laughter grew louder. "Shut up!"

"Insane. Just like his mother."

In two strides the Master lunged at Ianto and grabbed him out of the chair, pinning him against the wall. Jack tried in vain to stop him but Andrews clubbed him to the floor. Everything seemed to unravel around the captain; everything seemed to be moving at a different speed.

"You never loved me." The Master spoke, confronting his past. "You never tried."

The Doctor saw another spectre of his own making in the Master's words, another image, another time.

How strange is fate that it has us running around in circles and yet we do not see that which is past. We do not see our own actions until it is too late.

How fate's mirror has played us both and still we learn nothing.

'_We were friends, once.'_

Enemies always.

But never just brothers.

"It was always him, him, him. Never me. Why couldn't you love me?" The boardroom faded from the Master's view, only he and Ianto remained in the twisted edge of his mind. "What did I do that was so wrong?" the Time Lord asked, looking for some expiation.

Ianto closed his eyes. There it was, that pivotal moment. The endgame. He collected himself before unleashing the Master's insane fury. "Lived," he said cruelly.

The Master saw red.

Again the Doctor cried out but it was too late, the searing flash of the Master's rage thrust the rounded end of the stainless steel knife into Ianto's stomach. He withdrew it and forced it again and again into the young man's abdomen, killing the ghost of his father with every potent stab of the blade.

A shot rang out and Jack's body collapsed behind the Master, bringing the Time Lord back from his relentless attack. He twisted the bloodied knife one final time and smiled at Ianto, his eyes bearing some semblance of reason.

"I may only be able to kill you once," he whispered, "but, know this, Ianto Jones, I will make him pay again and again for your insolence." He pulled out the blade and Ianto slid bonelessly beside Jack.

"You are nothing," the Master whispered finally.


	24. I Walk Alone 4

**I Walk Alone - 24**

In a small hotel room in Cardiff a man picked up his summer jacket and adjusted his tie in the mirror. He closed his eyes, taking a moment to steady himself.

He had done nothing, just sat and listened, while….

He straightened himself. They had a plan, best stick to it. He tapped his breast pocket checking that the lipstick was still there. It was.

There was a knock on the door and it was pushed slightly ajar. Benton poked his head through the gap. "Sir?"

"Bring the car round front, John."

Benton nodded. "Yes, sir."

Harry Sullivan picked up his phone and dialled. The number rang only once. He cleared his throat. "It's done."

Silence.

"Sarah?"

"Are you okay?"

"I… Is Mr Smith ready?" He dodged the question.

She understood. "Ianto left the back door open, we're in."

"Good."

"We can delay the signal long enough for us to change its content." She didn't need to tell him, he already knew but she needed, wanted to keep talking a little longer.

"Good," he said again. "Do you need anything?"

"No, we've got it covered; we received the extra footage last night." He heard her swallow. "Harry…"

"We can't all afford to have the Doctor's principles, Sarah Jane." The Doctor's or a doctor's?

_First do no harm._

He was no longer that man and he had dragged Sarah Jane down to those ambiguous depths.

"I'm sorry," he said and he was, but only for bringing her into this shady underworld.

There was a pause. Sarah Jane bit her lip. "Harry, what if…?"

_He'd done nothing_.

"Then it will be up to us to save the world."

"Again," she added.

"Again," Harry said softly.

Another pause. "I'll see you tomorrow, then," Sarah Jane urged.

"Tomorrow?"

"Eight o'clock, the Thai House, you like Thai food?" She had never thought to ask.

"Um, yes. The Thai House?"

"Cardiff."

"Cardiff." It was just a whisper.

"I know you're here, you wouldn't let anyone else shoulder the responsibility."

Harry cleared his throat out of habit. "Well then."

"Well then," she repeated.

Another pause. "Give my regards to Mr Smith," Harry said finally.

Sarah Jane smiled. "Will do."

Again no one spoke, unwilling to end the conversation. There was so much more to be said but it would never be spoken. Harry found his emotions slipping. "If..?" But couldn't say the words, just like Sarah Jane a moment ago.

He closed his eyes but there was no sanctuary in the darkness. She knew what he was asking. "I'll be here, Harry, I'll be ready. Be careful."

"Until tomorrow, then."

"Until tomorrow."

Click.

A/N: Thank you to all those out there who have befriended this little fic, your support means a lot. :o)


	25. I Walk Alone 5

**I walk alone - 25**

The Doctor felt his body settled away from regeneration. There was no more pain, just emptiness. He gave a rueful smile.

He was alone in his thoughts.

Ianto had gone; the only connection remaining was the soft whisper of the young TARDIS lamenting the follies of men. He opened his eyes and old memories assaulted him once more as he found himself on Gallifrey.

It was night time; the sky above was bleeding light as darker shades of tawny terracotta and spice streaked its flaming mantle, its twin suns dipping behind the haggard peaks of the Kyllyvos mountains. The sky would soon turn from copper, to bronze, to…

He lifted his head, music drifted on the sweep of the breeze, dancing in careless notes of euphoria. The Doctor closed his eyes, his finger keeping time with the music as he hummed, softly, along. Solemnitas nox noctis: festival of the night, a celebration of the coming of winter heralded by a dark, grey-blue, tint in the night sky.

The Doctor followed the sound just as he had before as the old man aged by more than time. The rust coloured grass, dried in the heat, sighed as he strolled through its seasoned meadow, relinquishing the ivory petals of its seed husks to float like snow into the night. Pathways had been trampled into its mellow standing, guiding the traveller to the heart of the festivities, but the Doctor kept to the shadows, concealing himself near the twisted and ancient wood of the sepia coloured tree line.

The sky deepened to charcoal, an obscure darkness that gripped the blaze of the heavens, fingering its rich light and dousing its glowing embellishment.

Bonfires were lit from the embers of the ground to keep alive the warmth of the earth against the approach of the hoar like mist that signified the fall of summer. The Doctor inhaled deeply, relishing the cinnamon aroma of the Gallifreyan wood, savouring the moment of this, his homecoming.

The memory was so vivid, so precious.

It was his last of Sanna.

He watched her move with grace amongst the long grass, fingers trailing in the feathered stalks, dispersing their lacy blooms into the air. Time had been kind, for in the flush of both sky and fire she outshone their nature with beauty that can only come from within. He wanted to reach out, to hold her, to touch her, but he felt soiled and unclean, afraid that he would somehow tarnish the tranquillity and peace she had found. So he followed her footfalls in the grass, close but never near.

She reached into the pocket of her gown and retrieved a baked Tacabeara, testing its surface to see if it was ready to eat. It was oval in appearance, a fruit similar to the head of a budding rose, dark pink in colour where it had been baked in the flaming roots of its own tree to trigger germination. It was a delicacy and a favourite of his from childhood.

She turned and around him the memory withdrew like the sea from the sand of an out going tide; but Sanna still remained.

She took a step toward him, her footprint remaining in the beach of his mind, offering him the fruit. His hand reached across the dark space between them, fingers outstretched, needing to touch her waning form before it too vanished into the starless corners of his awareness. She looked at the longing in his eyes and smiled sadly as her facade began to dissolve into busy partials of light emanating from her body.

She placed the Tacabeara into his palm and wrapped his fingers around the fruit as her likeness dispersed into the glow of the TARDIS, his TARDIS. The contour of her hand swept his face, bathing it in the radiance of her being, instilling a serenity upon the tired framework of his hectic mind.

"'_And you, my father, there on that sad height, curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.'" _She spoke the words softly in his head, before kissing his cheek.

The fruit unfurled in his grasp, indicating it was ready to eat, but instead of the bitter sweet pulp of its seeds it held small bubbles of memories beneath the shedding petals.

The Doctor touched one with his fingertip. He looked into the ghostly form of the TARDIS.

"These are Ianto's memories," he exclaimed, laughing a little. "He gave them to you, of course he did! After all, he's more apart of you than me. Clever boy." He laughed again. "Clever boy!"

He held one of the small spheres and placed it to his lips. "Now, what was so important that you kept it from us?"

The Doctor closed his eyes and swallowed.


	26. My Shadow's The Only One 26

**My Shadow's The Only One That Walks Beside Me – 26**

"Jack, I think he's waking up."

"Susan?" The Doctor's voice sounded faint.

'_No not Susan, Barbara, Dodo, Polly, Nyssa, Ace?' _The Time Lord's mind circled in flocks of past memories.

'_What else have you got - laser spanner?' Martha, Martha's voice, light yet determined. Dr Martha Jones. Jones. Jones.'_

There was a reply, male, the Doctor couldn't make it out, maybe it was just a grunt. It sounded tired, worn, stretched, small.

He opened his eyes. The light blinded him. A yelp ripped from his throat. He felt a hand on his shoulder guide him back against a hard surface. He was lying down. '_Odd._'

He shook his head to loosen the tangle of thoughts and memories. Pain imploded. '_Not a good idea, then.'_

"Take it easy." '_Grace, no, Martha again, but was she inside his head?'_

"Martha?" A hand brushed his brow.

'_Martha Jones, Dr Martha Jones, Jones, Jones.'_

"I'm here." Her voice was soothing against the snatch of broken recollections, a cord to hang on too.

'_Where? Where is here?' _The Doctor licked his lips. _'Tacabeara.'_

"Gallifrey?" he asked.

He felt Martha turn her head, looking toward someone else. "No." The reply was almost patronising. "Torchwood, Cardiff."

'_Torchwood_. _It should mean something_.'

The Memories scattered and circled once more.

'_Oh, I'm- I'm dazed and confused. I've been chasing this wee naked child over hill and over dale. Ain't that right, ya... tim'rous beastie?' _The Doctor's voice rebounded in his head. _'Torchwood House?'_

'_Rose.'_

"Torchwood," he repeated out loud, trying the name, testing its significance.

"Yes," Martha acknowledged. "Do you remember?" Her voice was soft, but there was something clouding its edge.

'_Something.'_

"Torchwood," the Doctor said again, savouring the substance in its sound.

'_Torchwood, Torchwood, something, Torchwood.'_

'_Susan and I are cut off from our own planet - without friends or protection. But one day we shall get back. Yes, one day....'_

'_So you're my replacements — a dandy and a clown!'_

'_It's the end... but the moment has been prepared for...' _

Then someone else's voice stole into his mind. A hawk amid the doves.

'_And so it came to pass that the human race fell, and the Earth was no more. And I looked down upon my new dominion as master of all; and I thought it good.'_

'_I am usually referred to as the Master...universally.'_

The Doctor tried to fit the pieces together._ 'There was a crooked man…'_

"The Master," he whispered. "Torchwood."

"Yes," Martha encouraged.

'_Time bubble, pain, Torchwood.' _Again his thoughts skipped.

'_Who has a sonic screwdriver?' _An American voice surfaced.

"I do," the Doctor answered out loud.

"Doctor?" Martha sounded worried again.

'_Jack, Captain Jack Harkness – freak.'_

"Bananas are good," the Doctor said again. "Good source of potassium!"

"Doctor, please." Martha placed a hand back on his forehead.

"He's remembering." '_Not Martha this time, Ian, Turlough, no, no, Jack, Jack Harkness, although, not Jack, he sounded so distant, stripped and bare.'_

"Jack?" The Doctor tried to sit.

"He's here," Martha answered, looking over to the captain whose head remained bowed.

"Wrong," the Doctor countered as Martha helped him back against the wall.

Jack snorted but didn't look up, he had nothing to say.

"Doctor, can you open your eyes?"

The Time Lord held up a hand to Martha's query.

"Trying to. Torchwood you say, Cardiff?" He frowned. _'What was it he should remember?'_

'_Torchwood One, Canary Wharf.'_

'_Thought it would be the best place to wait to give you the letter.' _Another voice, Welsh accent.

'_Mother, mother I feel sick, send for the doctor, quick, quick, quick.' _

_He was falling. No, not him, a child. Another's memory. He was aware of branches snagging at his clothes, clutching, catching and scratching his bare skin as he tumbled through the knit of wood._

_Birds screeched a warning, he could hear them fuss and flap their wings as he startled their peaceful canopy in the crash of flailing arms and legs. _

'_This isn't flying! This is falling with style!'_

_Falling backward. A backward belly flop._

_He was missing a black dap, his left one. He'd only worn them today to break them in for school. He'd have to look for it later, if he survived, there would be hell to pay if he lost it, Clarks, size 3.1/2, and his sock too, it had taken his sock with it. _

_Five pink toes, cold in the rush of summer air. _

_He must be nearing the ground soon; the branches had stopped their unyielding swipes at his body. It was only a matter of t…. _

_Darkness. _

_Nothing._

'_Mother dear shall I die, yes, my darling by and by.'_

_And then, something, something small, far off, a light, a pinprick of light in the darkness, a bloom unfurling, illuminating the nothing in a rush of senses and explosion of rebirth._

_Light._

_Broken bones snapped back into place._

_Sounds, sobbing, noise._

"_Oh my god, oh my god, Harry, I just found him, I just… he hadn't come in for tea, I only just… I don't know how long he's been lying here. Please, Harry, I can't… is he..?"_

_Fingers touched his pulse point. Touch. Feeling. Warmth. They trembled a little in their quest._

_A sharp intake of breath. "Lizzy, I'm sorry he's… he's breathing." The fingers pressed a little harder, touching the steady pulse of blood under his skin. Life. "He's breathing." _

"_What? I mean, I was sure by the angle of… I thought he… oh my god, are you sure?"_

"_God damn it, Lizzy, I am a Doctor, he's breathing." Exasperation._

"_But his neck… what if he's paralysed and the blood, there's so much blood." _

_Blood. Coppery. Taste._

_A hesitation, truth or lie. "Just, just superficial, old girl, head wounds bleed a lot." Lie then. _

_A hand reached for his and squeezed. He squeezed back. A finger tickled his bare sole, his toes wiggled in their excitement._

"_Dear God." The murmured prayer of a questioning soul. "He's fine." Relief as a hand patted his._

_Tobacco dressed with whiskey, mild and woody, settled on the air around him._

"_Harry, are you sure? I mean…" _

"_He's fine, Lizzy, small boys bounce, don't you know." _

_Something bubbled to the surface, a laugh. "Harry?"_

"_I'm here, titch, you had us worried for a moment."_

"_I'm sorry." It seemed the right thing to say. "My dap, I think I lost my dap."_

_Another hand, smaller, caressing his face. "Don't worry about it, sweetheart, it's okay." He smiled toward the sound._

"_Lizzy, why don't you go and run the boy a bath so we can get him cleaned up." _

_Maternal hesitation. "I don't know…" A look, a pause. "If you're sure he's alright, Hal." A nod._

_She faltered her voice calmer, restrained, her initial panic gone. "Harry." It was almost a whisper. "I'm not a fool." Weighted words._

_Another shared look. "We'll talk later. Liz, not a word to anyone, not even Glynn."_

_There was a moment, an uncertainty, torn between brother and husband. "I'm not asking for me, Liz." Fingers ran through the mop of his hair._

_She turned away and headed back to the house. "I'll put the kettle on as well." It was the only answer Harry was going to get._

"_Harry?" His voice seemed so small against the busy noise of summer._

"_Yes, titch?"_

_He opened his eyes to the shaded sky. He frowned. "Am I, I mean, am I still me?"_

_Harry smiled at once, understanding the question. "You're still you, Ianto, nothing's changed."_

"_Good."_

"_Good."_

_He sat up and rested back on his arms, looking at the old oak tree. "You know, I nearly made it to the top."_

_Harry reached across and ruffled the sticky mess of his hair. "Good lad, Ianto, good lad."_

'_One, two, three, four…'_

The Doctor jumped up. "Harry Sullivan is an imbecile!" He laughed and clapped his hands together. "Oh my giddy aunt, Torchwood, you say?"

"Yes," Martha answered slowly, a worried frown crossing her brow.

He looked around him, waggling a finger at Martha. "Torchwood, cells."

He clicked his fingers together as he paced. His hand went instinctively to his breast pocket for his glasses; the pocket was gone.

"I'm wearing a boiler suit." He patted himself down, puzzled.

"You were sick," Martha replied slowly.

"Sick?"

"You vomited." Her answer was measured.

The Doctor shook his head. "Time Lords don't vomit, my dear, we forcibly expel matter."

"Well, you did, all down your suit."

"Now that's interesting." He placed a finger to his lips.

"Doctor?" Martha looked at him.

"Were you expecting anybody else?" He whirled round to meet her stare.

"I, I," she stuttered.

"That's three, no, two I's…" The Doctor hit himself on the forehead. "Maybe it's me, maybe I'm wrong." He grabbed Martha's arms, looking into her eyes. "Tell me, Martha Jones, am I still me?"

She inclined her head towards Jack who seemed oblivious to everything except gnawing on the inside of his cheek.

"I, I don't understand."

He looked around him. "Well, the lighting's pretty poor but tell me, Martha who do you see?"

"You?" The word was stretched in confusion.

"Ah, but me who?"

"You, you."

"Me, me?"

"Doctor!" Martha gave an exasperated sigh, his name pressed between her perfect teeth.

The Doctor shook his head. "Yes," he said more slowly. "But which one am I?"

"You!" she replied, adamantly.

"Ha, ah!" he exclaimed, kissing her cheek. "Well thank the stars for that! Couldn't face reliving any of them again, you know a few were in curls? Can't abide curls, too much work in the morning all that primping and preening. And lisps, oh, don't get me started on lisps, maybe endearing on an eight year old child, but a grown man!"

"Doctor…"

"And the fashion sense I had back then…"

"Doctor!" Martha yelled, grabbing his attention.

"What?"

She touched his face, her eyes soft with unshed tears. She swallowed them back. "Do you remember anything?"

His eyes caught hers and held them to his hearts. "I remember everything, Martha Jones." He moved away from her.

He stopped, looking down at the brilliant white of the cheap daps he had on. "My Hi-Tops, they've taken away my Hi-Tops!"

_He was missing a black dap, his left one. _

_Five pink toes, cold in the rush of summer air. _

There was another rush of air and before he had time to comprehend its source he was pinned against the hard stone of the wall. The back of his head grazed the solid pattern of the bricks as he met the reproachful gaze of his attacker. The severity of Jack's stare reminded him of his own broken self as he saw all the suppressed ghosts of the captain's past, all the pain, all the guilt and lost, so deeply worn, now surface like a burning martyr. "Hi-Tops, fucking Hi-Tops, Doc?" The arm across the Time Lord's neck was unyielding. "Ianto's dead and all you're concerned about is your fucking footwear?" They were so close the Doctor could smell the other man's rage.

"Well, I was rather attached to them." The pressure on his throat intensified as Jack made a fist with his free hand and slammed it into the wall by the Time Lord's head. The Doctor turned his gaze away.

"He was your son; he gave his life to free you, does that mean nothing?" Jack forced the words between the set of his exposed teeth, his fist still in the wall, pressing against the rough surface of the old brickwork, finding no release in the pain.

The Doctor met Jack's glare. "There will be time to grieve later, Jack, as for now, there's a much bigger picture."

The captain pushed away, flexing his injured fist but his stare never left the Time Lord's. "To hell with the bigger picture!"

"Ah, but there's always one for us, Jack," the Doctor said quietly as he lent his head against the stone wall, shoving his hands into the pockets in his boiler suit out of habit.

Jack took a menacing step into the Time Lord's personal space, filling it with his persona. "Not for me, not today." There was a recklessness behind his words, a recklessness that spoke of vengeance.

"Jack, this isn't helping." Martha tugged at his shirt sleeve and for the first time the Doctor notice the dried blood covering the material. Jack's or Ianto's? He couldn't tell. Maybe it belonged to both of them combined in bitter irony.

The Doctor sighed, pushing back against the wall to meet Jack's stare. "We can't look for revenge, Jack it only leads to more death and there's been enough killing."

"Well I'm done being a saint, this time I want some retribution." The captain's eyes showed the man he once was, ruthless, cruel, detached. A man made in the spiteful plunder of youth and all its harsh realities.

"Leave the Master to me." There was an underlying threat in the Doctor's words.

Jack snorted. "Why? So you can slap him on the wrist and tell him what a naughty boy he's been? I'm looking for something a little more permanent, this time."

"I won't let you harm him." The Doctor gaze was cold and impenetrable.

"No, well I ain't giving you the choice here, Doc."

"Then you'll have to go through me." There was no emotion in the Time Lord's voice, it's inflection hard as stone.

"Fine!"

"Back off both of you!" Martha pushed between them. "You're behaving like children." She looked toward the blinking light of the security camera, knowing the Master would be watching this.

"Jack, just calm down, alright." She tried to convey more with her eyes, but Jack was blind to everything but vengeance as he pulled away from her concern, putting distance between himself and the Doctor in a couple of strides.

"Let him go, Martha," the Doctor said quietly as Jack turned in on himself.

"And you should know better," she scolded, watching the mask of his face.

The Doctor looked toward her, holding her patience gaze. "You know, I would have understood," she said, "about you two being brothers, you could have told me." The revelation had left her more than a little hurt. "After all we've been through, you could have told me."

"Martha…"

She held up her hand and sat down on the cold slab of the bench.


	27. My Shallow Heart's The Only Thing 2

**Author's Notes: ** References to the Carry On Screaming and Charles Hawtry, very small nod to Top Gear, Dante's Divine Comedy, Do not go gently into that good night - Dylan Thomas.

Thank you to all of you who are reading this. :o)

**My Shallow Heart's The Only Thing That's Beating - 27  
**

Benton pulled into the underground car park and turned off the engine as he coasted the Audi into the registered bay by the inconspicuous door marked 'private.' The handbrake gave a satisfying snap as he locked it into position.

His index finger tapped the skin under his right ear and he spoke in hushed, brusque tones for a few seconds. He turned to Harry, who was sat in the back. "It's a green, sir, we have a go."

Harry nodded his reply and opened the door, reaching for his battered Gladstone bag as he ducked into the enclosed area. He looked around first before heading over to the door and lifting his face to the retinal scanner. He waited for what seemed like an eternity before the door lock clicked and he was allowed access to the short tunnel that skirted the lower levels of the Hub. He quickly glanced over his shoulder at Benton, remembering the lock was on a nine second timer, he pressed inside. The door shut behind him. Harry sighed. "So far, so good."

He straightened himself up and set about his business, pacing as briskly as his knee would allow through the short tunnel that bypassed part of the Hub and led, by way of an oval hatch, to further subterranean levels. He had memorised his route, but, being a curious soul by nature, he couldn't help being a little enthralled by the vastness of this underground warren, and would love to have been able to explore its extent. "Maybe another day," he muttered to himself, "best stick to the job in hand."

His voice cast back a slight echo that ran against the water dispersing though the mortar of the Victorian brickwork feeding the growth of moss which gave the tunnel an alien like quality. And Harry had seen 'alien' before.

The passageway, to his left, opened up to the weapons store but Harry took the narrower tunnel that ran almost parallel to that entrance. A channel of water coursed swiftly at his feet, racing him as it followed the slight gradient of this new route. Above the old lighting buzzed and flickered in the damp and limited space, creating a host of deceptive shadows to deceive the wary traveller. This tunnel had been specially built to allow quick and furtive access to the morgue to deposit those superfluous bodies that had no need of an autopsy. Back when Torchwood had been founded there had been a lot of collateral damage, Harry had read all the reports, it was an age before Retcon when death had ensured both silence and suppression and the morgue was used to house those unfortunates who stood in the institute's way, until, of course, their bodies could be disposed of. Torchwood had been responsible for many staged accidents and suicides and nobody had dared to question their validity.

Harry sighed, thinking of his own job, thinking of how little things had changed with humanity's advances. Secrets had a price and sometimes that price was death.

He closed his eyes for a moment. When had he changed? When had he stepped from light to shadow, from doctor to…? To what? Murderer? Killer? Assassin? First do no harm. And yet he had, with a stroke of a pen, condemned eighty-seven people to die for the security of this planet. Where was the virtue in that?

Harry gave an involuntary shiver against the damp as the air turned that much cooler as he reached his objective, the oval domed door of the morgue. Its outline had been marked with photoluminescent paint making it stand out in the gloom with an eerie glow. On the overhang above someone had daubed, 'abandon hope all ye who enter here'.

Harry looked at the prominent lettering until the letter swam in the darkness before him. _"'Through me you pass into the city of woe: Through me you pass into eternal pain: Through me among the people lost for aye,'" _he whispered solemnly, reciting Dante's inscription on the gates of Hell. _  
_

"'_Justice the founder of my fabric mov'd: to rear me was the task of power divine, supremest wisdom, and primeval love._

_"'Before me things create were none, save things eternal, and eternal I endure. All hope abandon ye who enter here.  
_  
_"'Such characters in colour dim I mark'd, over a portal's lofty arch inscrib'd: Whereat I thus: Master, these words import.'" _The cut of his voice sounded with grave endeavour over the gush of the water falling through the grate at the foot of the door.

As a young boy he had been fascinated by Dante's poem, ever since he had seen Blake's watercolours illustrating the Divine Comedy. He was sure, now, as he progressed in age, that some of the circles of Hell existed as inner torment through a life lived in the shadowy depths of ultimate solutions and he knew, for a fact, that parts of UNIT was in itself terraces of purgatory. Hell, Harry had concluded, is where men steer themselves in moments of reflection, doubt and self loathing.

He sighed and placed his hand on the biometric scanner and waited for the light to sweep his prints. It beeped, once, in judgement and the hydraulic door hissed and spluttered as it opened inward into the morgue.

Harry stepped willingly into its inner circle.

The first thing he noticed was how spotless it was, spotless and grey with a high vaulted ceiling not unlike the crypt of a cathedral, although, if he was honest, the pearlesque silver of the glossed tiles reminded him more of a public convenience, the older type, where you literally had to spend a penny, to well, spend a penny.

He smiled. His mind unwittingly wandering to the film Carry On Screaming and Dan Dann who was murdered in his own conveniences. He gave a snort of laughter. He had met Charles Hawtrey, the actor who had played the unfortunate character of Dann, in a bar in Soho, not long after he'd started his medical training with the navy. He'd been young and inexperienced and the bar had been recommended by a couple of his shipmates with the promise of a burlesque show, so in his naiveté he had gone along to enjoy a drink and maybe some female company for the evening. Only the company was of the male variety, but, if he was honest, in the dim lighting and seedy backdrop of the club, it was a little hard to tell the gender of those performing in the floor show.

It was Harry's first encounter with the unfamiliar, a thriving 'alien' world down a shady back alley. Harry had discovered a lot that night, amongst other things, that Hawtrey could out drink a fish, had the arms of an octopus and a 'thing' for sailors, or maybe it was just uniforms. He hadn't stayed long enough to find out, as Harry had also discovered how to make a polite but very fast exit with his honour still intact.

He walked across the bridge over the central well. Below him the sentient core of Hub's mainframe flickered and buzzed over the water table. There was no record of how the mainframe had come into being and Harry had asked Ianto, once, if he knew. The young man had dipped his voice and said in a quiet but solemn whisper, _"Some say it fell from space and the Hub was built around it, others say it was once part of the rift. I just call it, the Stig." _

He smiled again and ran a well trained eye over the compartments. Despite the pristine condition of the morgue, the heavy doors were showing signs of age. "Welcome to the Bates motel," Harry muttered as he placed his bag on the floor.

He crouched down and undid the two buckles on the wrap around straps before releasing both the sliding mechanisms on top and pressed the central release catch. The worn leather creaked as its hinged frame opened wide so he could delve inside its roomy interior for the hand held-tracking device. He stood, his knee clicking with the movement making Harry wince. He steadied himself and pointed the small black box towards the shut doors, sweeping methodically along each column and row.

In the Hub above him, the unwieldy tracker would look antiquated against all the modern technology, a thick square of hard metal with a needle set against a curved dial. But down here, amid the Victoriana, it seemed to find its niche.

The box clicked patiently with each arch of Harry's arm, bouncing a signal and waiting for a reply while the needle sat twitching on the zero. Harry inadvertently worried his bottom lip as the seconds stretched tauntingly. And then it came. The needle jerked toward the right and the device gave a high pitch whine as it found a response. Harry breathed out as he tossed the machine back into the bag and moved toward the shut door.

* * *

Neil had an itch and it wasn't the sort you could scratch. He slipped his fingers between the buttons of his shirt to worry the Chantilly lace of the hand stitched camisole next to his skin: cherry red silk with a golden trim to match the shirt and the blended mix of the detailed thong. He closed his eyes and counted backward from ten, allowing himself this moment of uninterrupted pleasure. When he opened his eyes he saw Andrews watching him, his face crumpled by a disapproving scowl. Neil sat back in his chair challenging the UNIT man's gaze until Andrews looked away. Neil snorted, bringing his feet up onto Toshiko's desk and crossing his ankles, he'd certainly brought that puppy to heel. He tented his fingers under his nose and watched the light reflect abstractly off his glossy red platform shoes, the 'something' still gnawing at his insides.

His mind skipped in visions of death, the faceless mannequins of Canary Wharf, suited, booted and covered in blood and ash. He had walked upon the fodder of their corpses without a moment's hesitation, but then he would have walked all over them in life to attain his goals.

Sometimes, his dreams were filled with their faces, the ones he'd left behind the locked door for the Cybermen to pick off at their leisure. His mind filled with their anguished pleas, the thud of their fists on the metal door, beseeching cries of family, loved ones and 'can't do this.' Well, he could and he did and he was all the better because of it. It was him or them and he was no hero.

If he was of an enlightened mind he might have said he was humanly fallible, but that would be admitting, somehow, that he was imperfect. No, he was a survivor and at no cost to himself and that's the way he liked it. A conscience is for the weak and morals are for fools. And Neil, in conclusion, was neither weak nor foolish, which made him wonder how Jones had survived? Luck, he supposed, after all, the boy had been on level four, some errand for fat Davis, and Neil had seen the bodies there…

He sat up, lifting his heavy shoes from the table with a thud. Neil remembered the 'something' he'd forgotten. It had seemed so unimportant at the time, just another worthless body amid the mass, he hadn't even given it a second glance, why would he? Why would he morn a useless boy? A useless _dead_ boy.

He licked the cherry gloss from his mouth. At least he was sure he was dead.

Neil narrowed his eyes as he thought back, nibbling the skin along his index finger as he glanced to where Saxon was preparing his address to the nation. Should he disturb him? No, he wasn't a hundred percent sure; Jones could have been injured, unconscious…

'_He was dead.' _ Neil heard his mother's voice taunting him from inside his head. _'There was a hole in his chest, remember?' _

Was there? Neil worried the soft flesh of his finger tip, he couldn't be sure and anyway people don't rise from the dead.

'_But he isn't people, you stupid boy, not like us. Why don't you go and check the body?' _Again the shrill whisper of his mother's voice grated in his mind.

"Saxon's already done that." Neil's reply was through gritted teeth, making Andrews look toward him. Neil gestured him away with a flick of his hand before swivelling his chair so his back was toward the room. "He tested the body already, for any signs of this regeneration process." His whisper was terse.

'_But what if he's cleverer than you, cleverer than your master?'_

"He's just a boy!" Neil snarled into his hand.

'_No he isn't,_' his mother retorted smugly, _'and it'll be your fault because you knew and didn't tell your master. What a naughty boy, naughty, naughty little boy, keeping sinful little secrets, and we know what happens to naughty little boys, don't we? Especially those who keep dirty secrets under their bed clothes for their mummies to wash away?' _

"No." Neil's voice wasfaint.

'_Naughty boys don't get any pretty things to play with. Naughty boys get all their pretties taken away from them and burnt on the bonfire. Remember, remember the fifth of November, lipstick and silks making beautiful embers.' _ His mother laughed, cruelly.

"No! I'm a good boy," Neil shouted out loud, standing up; Andrews cocked an eyebrow at his sudden outburst.

'_Snips and snails and puppy dogs' tails…' _her voice sneered.

"Sugar and spice, sugar and spice," Neil whispered, placing his hands over his ears. "Sugar and spice, sugar and spice, sugar and spice, sugar and spice!"

'_Dirty boy, dirty little shit, dirty little queer!'_

'No!"

'_Neil Down drinks ginger beer, drives a Vauxhall Cavalier, have you seen his_ _chandelier, Neil Down is very queer.'_ The playground chant became a hundred taunting voices in his head.

"No, no, no!" He swept his arm across the desk sending its contents crashing to the floor. This was all Jones's fault; the boy had brought all the bad memories back.

"Sir?" Andrews stepped toward him, Neil turned round and glared at the UNIT man as the voices stopped.

Neil straightened his suit and his composure. "There's something I must see to." He tapped the tiny Kahr pistol in his breast pocket and holding his head up high he headed for the morgue.

Andrews waited a moment before discreetly following him.

* * *

Harry stared at the lifeless face of Ianto. He could let the medical training kick in, detach himself, catalogue the injures, the stages of death: pallor mortis, algor mortis, rigor mortis, but no, this was too personal, this was no patient, this was…?

What?

Harry sighed, the soft sound glancing off the mortuary tiles. He opened the body bag a little more, exposing Ianto's hands that had been placed on his chest. He touched the cold skin, willing the blood to flow through its veins, afraid of each unresponsive second.

"_Do you trust him?"_

"_Like a father."_

Harry recalled Ianto's earlier conversation with Harkness.

'_Like a father.' _

Harry cleared his throat he had never been eloquent at expressing his own feelings. It was how he was brought up. "And you are more than a son to me," he whispered, taking Ianto's hand in his own.

He gave a small smile. "Okay, we've had our moments, Titch, you joining One against my better judgement for a start, but I understood, even though you markedly distanced yourself from me, I appreciate why you did it."

He rubbed his thumb across the back of Ianto's hand. "It would have been easy for me to say, 'you should have told me,' about what was to come, about the battle, but we both know that it wasn't that easy, that the burden would have been heavier carried by two. You tried to protect me, you tried to protect the timeline and I know it wasn't an easy choice."

And Harry had never judged him, even after the battle, even after Lisa, because he'd understood.

He gripped Ianto's hand little harder as if sheer strength and will could bring him back from the darkness he now inhabited. "I'll always be here for you, Titch, with that box set of Man from UNCLE and a mature scotch, I promise."

He placed the palm of his hand on Ianto's chest, ignoring the dried blood that had seeped into the material of his shirt.

Nothing.

Harry took a deep breath. "_Do not go gentle into that good night, old age should burn and rave at close of day; rage, rage against the dying of the light."_ The gentle baritone of his voice gave the words both presence and depth.

Nothing.

"_Though wise men at their end know dark is right because their words had forked no lightning, they, do not go gentle into that good night." _

Nothing.

His shoulders slumped a little, the timbre of his voice stretched; Harry felt the weight of his past age him with its heavy cloak. He faltered. "Come on, Titch, I can't do this alone, we have a plan remember, old boy?"

Nothing.

Harry swallowed. _"Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright, their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay. Rage, rage against the dying of the light_." His voice faded, lost in his distress. He had no more words, no more prayers for the universe and any being beyond.

A soft breath filled the silence.

Ianto's hand squeezed Harry's fingers.


	28. Sometimes I Wish Someone Out There 28

**Sometimes I Wish Someone Out There Will Find Me – 28**

Ianto changed quickly into the UNIT uniform Harry had brought for him, pulling the red cap snugly onto his head. He smiled thinking of Jack.

He turned to Harry. "Well, do I pass?"

The commodore coughed and walked over as Ianto stood in mock attention. Harry turned the stiff material of the dark collar, adjusting it slightly before brushing the fabric on the shoulders "Any father would be proud," he said as he stepped back.

"I'm not looking for a father's approval," Ianto replied as their eyes caught and held, speaking in feelings neither would utter.

Harry lowered his gaze as he turned to his Gladstone bag. His fingers hovered on the catch, looking to the cold glint of the metal. "It was too close, Titch," he reflected, glancing at Ianto. "Never again." The statement was final, allowing no argument.

Ianto looked at him, acknowledging the anguish in Harry's eyes with a brisk nod. "Never again," he repeated, looking away.

Harry handed Ianto a UNIT issue handgun, he weighed it in his hand before placing it in the holster.

"And this." Harry passed him an alien stun gun. "The UNIT troops left are only following orders, however misguided. We're all meant to be on the same side after all."

"Sometimes," Ianto replied, arching an eyebrow.

"Sometimes," Harry agreed with a small smile. He shut the bag, running his fingers along the length of the creased leather. "I was UNIT once."

"Seconded," Ianto reminded him, watching as Harry reminisced.

_First do no harm. _

"I was a surgeon once." He looked fleetingly at Ianto. "And now…"

"And now?"

Harry laughed. "And now I'm bloody James Bond, OAP." He pushed the catches into place, exhaling loudly as he snatched at the handles.

He turned and held eye contact, coughing slightly. "Did…?" His free hand went to where Ianto had been injured, the question hanging between the two men.

Ianto gave a reassuring smile. "I felt nothing, Hal, for me there was only darkness for a time then light, like awakening from a deep sleep."

"No pain?" Harry watched each minute expression on Ianto's face.

Ianto shook his head. "Only the initial death blow." He inadvertently rubbed his stomach. "No chorus of angles or demons with sticks, either, just a 'nothingness' where I cease to be."

Harry was drawn to where Ianto's fingers stretched across his uniform. "Do you want me to…?"

"I'm fine, Hal, honest."

"Good." Harry took a stepped toward the bridge. "Good," he repeated, nodding his head.

Ianto swallowed and hesitated. "Harry?"

The commodore glanced over his shoulder and smiled. "No change, Titch, you're still the same skinny, little sod. But me, I think I've aged ten years." He turned back to the entrance as Neil came into the morgue carrying the Kahr PM40.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here? Lazarus raised from the dead?" Neil mused rather dramatically. "Keep your hands where I can see them, Jones. You too, old man."

"Put the pistol down and play nice." The voice was deep and gravelly and Neil felt a gun barrel press against the back of his neck.

He swallowed but did not relinquish his hold on the weapon. "Andrews? Andrews, what do you think you're doing?" His voice was thin, yet still held the tone of command.

The metal pushed hard into his skin. "Getting myself a little payback. Now, drop the gun." Andrews's breath was hot against Neil's ear. The Kahr clattered to the floor.

"Sir." The UNIT man looked toward Harry as he grabbed Neil by the collar, almost choking him with the force and tearing the hand finished stitching. "If you don't mind, me and Pricilla, here, have some unfinished business to attend to, haven't we?" He pulled out a double bladed stiletto knife. "You like stilettos don't you, Down? Well, let me introduce you to Bessy. Say hello to the nice man, Bessy."

Andrews wrapped his bulky arm around Neil's neck and slid the tip of the knife down the subdued man's cheek. Red followed the path of silver. "You'll appreciate Bessy, Neil, you don't mind if I call you Neil, do you?"

Down gave a tiny shake of his head. "She's classy weapon, Neil," Andrews continued, "double edge, carbon steel blade, stag handle." He let the edge run down Neil's jaw line to his neck. "I think she likes you," he whispered close to Neil's ear.

Andrews looked up at Ianto and smiled; his lips seemingly unaccustomed to the action. "He killed my cat, sir, skinned it alive, brought me the remains in a cake box complete with candles. It was my birthday, you see, so I get the irony, I really do. But you see, sir, I may be many things and done some really bad things, but I'm an animal lover first and foremost."

"Ianto, we need to go." Harry stepped between the two men. "Andrews, eliminate the threat, then carry on with your orders is that clear?"

Andrews nodded. "Yes, sir." He turned his attention back to Neil. Neil let out a strangled cry.

Ianto followed Harry but stopped a little way along the corridor. "Andrews works for you." There was no accusation in the statement.

Harry did not turn round. "Not on paper," he replied, his eyes fixed forward. "I needed someone, someone else on the inside."

Ianto nodded, he would have done the same given the circumstances. "He helped tortured me." Again no blame.

The words scraped Harry's heart. "Yes, I know."

"He was good," Ianto conceded.

"He always is." Harry gave a remorseful smile as he looked back at Ianto, his stare falling away as if eye contact was too great a burden. "I'm not the Doctor, Titch," he said softly. "I don't have the luxury of the moral high ground."

"We do what we have to, Hal."

_First do no harm_.

Harry drew a long breath that threatened to break him. "Eighty-seven people, Ianto. Eighty-seven people I have sent to an early grave, some without a second thought, some deluded, some…" he broke off, "… some just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

He gave a bitter laugh. "In an ideal world we could use Retcon, but Retcon isn't infallible and there are some things that are just too dangerous to remember." He listened to the edge of his words dull against the resonance of the corridor.

_First do no harm_.

"Eighty-seven sacrificed so the world can remain ignorant to the reality living in its shadows." He was running out of words to excuse himself, just like the echo against the walls.

_First do no harm. _An oath of a much younger, innocent man.

"Someone has to clean up the mess." Ianto had always been a realist.

Harry shook his head. "Yet I never wanted any of this for you, Titch. I'm sorry."

Ianto reached out and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I don't think there was ever a choice for me."

"I could have walked away, taken you with me, given you a normal life." He looked at Ianto.

"You gave me my childhood back, Hal, you gave me a family. I was never looking for a father, and yet, I found you." Ianto conveyed so much more with his eyes.

And Harry snatched at it and took it to his heart. He wasn't looking for forgiveness, that he could never expect because he could never forgive himself, but that Ianto understood was a step closer to redemption.

Harry looked away and coughed. "We should…" he murmured, delving in his breast pocket and handing Ianto the lipstick.

"Yes, we should," Ianto concurred with a nod, accepting the sonic device, but Harry made no attempt to move.

He looked at Ianto. "I've changed, since…" he began with reservation.

Again, between the two men, there was no need for elaboration.

Ianto gave a soft smile. "So has he."

"Younger," Harry offered.

"Only externally." Ianto looked at him. "We all age, Hal."

"Some quicker than others," Harry said, gesturing for them to continued down the corridor.

Ianto smiled and headed off.

From the morgue, Neil screamed.

Harry looked back. "Eighty-eight," he whispered to himself.


	29. Til Then I Walk alone 29

**'Til Then I Walk Alone - 29**

The Doctor could feel it, well, in fact, he couldn't feel her, couldn't feel the TARDIS and that made him anxious. In all the time they had travelled together, he'd always been able to sense her presence in a 'back of the mind' sort of way.

He got up from the bench, glancing across at Jack whose eyes stalked his every movement. The Doctor exhaled.

'_You see so much of yourself in his eyes. You are much alike, a restless cause in the hand of the universe, dauntless and daring in your façade, yet underneath your bravado lies a brooding ocean of twilight and shadows where you keep your sorrows.'_

For a brief moment the TARDIS breached the Doctor's thoughts but she was not in them. He closed his eyes, stretching his mind across the distance between them.

'Where are you?' he asked.

'_I am within he who is within me,' _she answered_._

Ianto. He breathed a sigh of relief. 'Then he's alive?'

'_Yes, we are one together, sleeping in each other's thoughts.' _

The Doctor opened his eyes. 'Why? Why are you in Ianto?'

'_You are hurting. We are hurting. Time is hurting.'_

He took a step forward to the perspex barrier, placing the span of his hands on the transparent wall, looking into his own eyes. 'Why are you in Ianto?' he asked again.

'_We are the guardians of time, we must stop the hurt. No more hurt.' _

''How?' But the question went unanswered, the TARDIS had left him.

'_An older TARDIS will fight against outside influence or control, sacrificing themselves if they believe the fabric of time is in danger.' _The words he had spoken to Ianto pushed to the forefront of his mind.

'_Sacrificing themselves.'_

The Doctor looked again into his reflection but saw beyond its image to that of an older man. They regarded each other for what seemed like all of eternity until Harry Sullivan moved to open the door.

* * *

The Master held the ring in his hand, turning it in his grasp. The stones had gone, turned to dust but they had served their purpose. The dead could see no more. He tossed it across the room; he had no further use for it.

He'd drawn on the last of their power to discredit the government and manipulate the population into believing Torchwood had murdered Lucy on official orders. The video had already spiralled to over three million hits; people loved a good conspiracy and they were ready to accept it without concrete proof; just him and a grainy declaration from Lucy before her life was cut so tragically short.

And, of course, the subliminal whisper from the stones to believe his words, reaffirming what was already buried in their subconscious.

The Master drummed is fingers on the desk. Harold Saxon would lead them once again, and the Time Lord Empire would rise from the bones of men.

He sighed. It was at moments like this he missed Lucy. They could have celebrated somewhere romantic in her mind: Venice, Paris…

_Ah well, they would always have Paris – Champagne, cheese on toast, the screams of the population and the city burning before them. _What sweet memories they had shared.

He felt a rush of air and a shadow fell across his desk like a blimp. He sat back as Miss Emma Royds, the poster girl for gluttony, handed him a sheet of paper.

He fingered the report a moment; ink on paper, black on white. He liked the way it felt, not the touch of it, but the sheet being delivered into his hands was all about control and authority.

He studied the figures. "Ten percent of the world's children," he mused out loud, "and what are they offering in return?" He looked up into her full moon face.

She shrugged with indifference, scanning the printout she held. "Something called Zeiton-7."

The Master's eyes narrowed with interest. "Zeiton-7, are you sure?"

She held out the relevant page for him to look at. The Master snatched it from her chubby grasp.

An e-mail, concise, direct, abrupt, 'give us, we give you', almost a command.

'Zeiton-7.' There in black and white.

"How did they acquire it?" he asked, "Zeiton-7 can only be found on Varos."

Again she shrugged, more pronounced this time causing her saggy jowls and neck to quiver above the close fitting concave chain she wore. "It's important then, this 'seven' stuff?"

The Master let out a frustrated growl and banged his fist on the desk. "Zeiton-7 is fundamental in the operation of a TARDIS."

Her face remained blank, 'TARDIS' meant nothing to her. The Master sighed at her ignorance. He screwed the page tightly in his grasp, brandishing it in her direction. "With this quantity I could…" he looked at her. "Can they furnish us with a sample?"

Again she shrugged.

"I suggest you find out or you'll be feeding the weevils this evening. You'd make a very hearty meal." He threw the crumpled sheet at her, which to his surprise, she caught rather deftly.

"Yes, sir," she said turning to leave, her thighs rhythmically rubbing against each other as her feet slapped in vain against the sensible but overstretched shoes she wore.

The Master stood, pulling out his pocket watch to view the time. Soon, he thought glancing around the Hub. Soon he could rebuild the empire and Earth would become New Gallifrey.

* * *

The door to the cell slid open with a pressurized hiss.

The Doctor charged through in a rush of heavy blue cotton, unkempt hair and squeaky soles to confront Harry. "Where's Ianto, Harry?" he demanded without any of the usual pleasantries.

Jack stood in the doorway, frozen, watching as the two men eyed each other, measuring the time past between them.

Harry matched the Doctor's stare, its intensity free of the usual constraints, allowing the shattered remnants of his broken dreams to surface.

And the Doctor heard the voices of culpability in Harry's gaze, matched ten times over with the faces of those he had travelled with.

_You show us the universe, its wonders, its horrors, then we are left to stitch our lives into an ill-fitting suit with cheap cloth and golden thread. The pieces left age over time, the pattern tears, the seams break. We break. _

The Doctor was never good at confronting his past, but somehow time always brought him back to face it. For a brief moment he was hesitant.

"Harry." It sounded like an apology.

"The Hub," Harry answered, softly.

The Doctor stepped forward and lightly grasped Harry's sleeve. "To do what?"

"End this."

"No." The Doctor shook his head, releasing his hold. "This is my mess, I can't let him, can't let _them_ do this." He massaged his forehead.

"Yes, yes it is your mess," Harry reproached, "and yet here we are again, saving the world by the skin of our teeth. Nothing ever bloody changes does it?"

"But the TARDIS she's…" The Doctor took a step back. "Did you just reprimand me, Harry Sullivan?"

Harry coughed slightly. "Yes," he replied, his jaw set.

The Doctor smiled. "Well, it looks like some things change."

"Wait a minute." Jack's voice cut across the two men. "Ianto's alive?" No matter how he said it, there was a certain amount of Brian Blessed in Jack's tone.

"Yes," the Doctor answered.

Jack did not drop eye contact; the Doctor sighed. "He sort of regenerates."

"Sort of?" Jack stepped from the shadow of the cell.

"Well, it's obviously more complex than that." The Doctor gestured with his hands.

"How?" Another question, another step.

"Jack, we really don't have time…"

"How?" The captain would not be swayed.

"He's part Time Lord, Jack, part TARDIS…"

"So he can't die?" Jack snatched the question from the air around them, clinging to it as he waited for someone to answer.

"We're not sure," Harry cut in, opening his bag. "A Time Lord can only regenerate twelve times, we don't know if that's the case with Ianto."

"Really?" the Doctor broached, looking at Harry.

"It's not something you want to test, Doctor," Harry replied.

"No, no I guess not, but maybe I could…"

"And you knew this?" Jack stared at the Doctor, his frustration spilling its inner constraints.

The Doctor shook his head and sighed. "No, no… he never told me, guess he didn't think it was pertinent." He smiled a little. "It wasn't until I sensed him in the TARDIS, she kept him safe within her until the time was right."

"And you didn't think it was _pertinent_ to tell us?" Jack gestured towards himself and Martha; she quietly looked away.

"You knew, too?" he asked her.

Martha held the heat of Jack's stare. "Yes," she answered calmly.

_Yes._

Jack rocked slightly.

_Yes._

It stung. It shouldn't, but it did.

Ianto hadn't told him.

It hurt.

One more secret between them.

He felt unsure of himself, vulnerable, the whole basis of their relationship seemed anarchic.

And yet he too had secrets. Secrets he would never share.

"_Jack, if you really want to know the truth you can just ask me." _

He remembered Ianto words. He had never asked, afraid it would harm what they had.

"_It was enough that you were going to tell me, Ianto," _he had replied.

But it wasn't.

He'd found out the truth on his own and locked it away with all the others he had cloistered.

Jack had a lot of secrets. Most of them were his own.

He swallowed. "When… he began, "when did...?" The question died as Martha looked away.

"Oh," Jack said quietly, "seems you shared a lot that night." He was hurting, lashing out.

She reached across to him, keeping her voice soft. "That night, Jack, Ianto had watched the man he loved, loves," she emphasised, "slow roasted for over an hour and he felt every lasting second of it. Your death still clung to him, not only on his clothes but in his heart. It left him empty."

The Doctor bowed his head; He remembered that night too.

Martha gently touched Jack's face. "It was hard, you know, for both of us, keeping a low profile while everyone and everything was suffering under the Master's oppression. Death was always there, snapping at your heels, haunting your soul; each massacre you turned your back on, each senseless killing that you couldn't stop, it leaves its mark on you."

Jack touched her hand. He understood the pain of watching others die around you.

"Ianto tried saved a child that night, one life to make up for the pain of all that loss, but he wasn't thinking, it was impulsive, the Toclafane cut him down before he could reach her."

Her voice was quiet as she searched Jack's gaze. "So yes, I knew because I cradled his lifeless body in the ruins of St Paul's. I cried tears that I thought had dried long ago until he reached up and wiped them away."

Jack gently squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry," he said wearily, "it's just…"

Martha smiled at him but it did not match the strain in her eyes; worldly eyes Jack thought for a minute, aged before their time. "I know," she said, placing a finger to his lips, "but be glad he's alive."

Jack kissed her fingertip before rubbing at the stubble forming on his chin. "I guess I'm not very good at this."

Martha sighed, this was hardly the time or place but she had watched Jack skirt the issue too many times. This needed to be aired and she could hold back no longer. "Relationships, Jack? Or love?"

_Love._ There's that damn word again. Jack winced trying to avoid the lecture he could see coming. "Martha…"

But she caught his gaze, stripping him to the man beneath the heavy folds of his coat.

_Worldly eyes._

Again, he felt vulnerable.

"Love isn't easy, Jack, even if you pretend it doesn't matter, that it's just a quaint cliché of twenty-first century values. It's not and you know it. Don't run away from this, Jack, don't loose it or throw it away. Ianto deserve more than that."

"Hey, he's the one keeping secrets!"

Martha cocked a fierce eyebrow at him; God, he was a stubborn sod. Jack conceded with a meek dip of his head, holding up his hands. "Okay, okay but you know Ianto won't appreciate this."

Martha smiled. "I travelled with the Doctor and saved the world; you think Ianto Jones is going to frighten me?"

Jack mouthed one word. 'Coffee.'

Martha took a deep breath. "I can handle the decaf."

"Oh, you're a braver woman than me, Dr Jones," Jack conceded and gave her a winning smile before turning to Harry. "So, you must be the infamous Waverly. Captain Jack Harkness." He offered his hand.

"Commadore," Harry replied, "Commadore Harry Sullivan."

Ianto had never spoken of Harry Sullivan - _another secret_, Jack's mind tallied - but Jack knew of him from his contemporaries and they all had a great deal of time and respect for the man.

"_Do you trust him?"_

"_Like a father."_

The earlier conversation between himself and Ianto echoed in Jack's thoughts.

"_Like a father."_

Would Jack have let Ianto sacrifice himself? His gaze caught Harry's and the commodore's eyes reflected the trials and tribulations of command, all the dilemmas etched in tight lines around them and across is forehead; this man loved Ianto, loves…

_Loves. _

…And yet.

Jack closed his eyes; they stung against his lids.

Yes.

Yes, one day Jack would have to make that call, send Ianto knowingly to his death. The words ticked like seconds in his mind, counting down each moment between them, moments he tried to keep them apart in his heart.

_Love isn't easy._

Hell no, it wasn't. _Isn't_.

Was he afraid to let go, to love unconditionally given his past?

He knew he'd been blasé in their relationship, thus far, pushing much more that embracing it, looking for excuses and hiding beneath the mantle of command.

Martha could see right through him.

He bowed his head. _'If you can't give yourself to him completely then let him go and find someone who can.' _ The Doctor's words clattered untidily through his head. He pushed them to one side.

Jack gave Harry a cocky grin. "You know, I've always had a thing for sailors?" He winked.

"Really? And acrobats too by all accounts." Harry shook Jack's hand. "And technically, for the record, I'm a surgeon."

Jack laughed at the irony. "Three doctors and a captain escape from Torchwood's cells, surely there's a joke in there somewhere."

"I'm sure there is, but let's hope it's not on us," Harry replied, pulling a stun gun from his bag.

"Guns, Harry?" the Doctor queried.

"Toys," Jack offered turning the alien weapon in his hand, his eyes watching Harry closely.

"They're still UNIT, Captain," Harry offered, clearing is throat. "Even if they are under the Master's influence."

"Just following orders, right, Commodore?" The two held eye contact, a deeper conversation firing between them.

"Right," Harry answered, finally, looking away.

The Doctor smiled, taking one of the guns from Harry. He examined it lightly before putting it back in the bag. He patted Harry heartily on the shoulder. "Righty-o then, let's go save the world," he said, heading towards the door.

"Again," Martha added, picking up one of the stun guns, checking its setting before placing it in her pocket.

"On a wing and a prayer as always," Harry muttered, closing the bag.

"Harry." The Doctor stood in the doorway, his gaze serious. "He's a credit to you."

The commodore looked up and smiled.

The Doctor stuck his head out the door, wetting his finger. He held it out as if checking for wind direction. He nodded to himself and strode off left.

"That's _right_, Doc," Jack called after him.

"Really?" There was a squeak of rubber against the floor. "Are you sure?"

"My house, Doc."

"Okay then, right it is, Allons-y."

Both Martha and Harry shared a smile before she rubbed his shoulder. "Nice to see you again, Harry," she said as she followed the Doctor.

Jack lingered, setting his gun, the light blinking a vivid green. "You know, those who were under the Master's influence onboard the Valiant couldn't readjust, they became dangerous, violent, had to be…"

"_Institutionalized_." Harry sighed, avoiding eye contact. "I know, I signed the paperwork."

Jack turned the gun in his grasp, familiarizing himself with its weight and handling. "Do you think it will be any different this time?" He didn't look up.

"We can only hope," Harry replied quickly, yet without much conviction.

Jack gave a reflective smile. "Bet you still clap your hands Disney fashion to show you believe in fairies."

"Don't we all," Harry countered softly, "that is, until the screen goes blank and the lights go up." He sighed. "We all want to believe in Tinkerbell, Captain, it's just some of us know the truth."

Jack studied him for a moment. "These are for _his_ benefit aren't they?"

Harry turned to the doorway. "No, Captain Harkness," he admitted softly, "they're for mine."

* * *

The pocket watched chimed, the penetrating chirr of its peal grinding against each flat surface like a bitter cold wind. The Master opened its case and smiled.

It was time.

He looked out onto the Hub watching a young UNIT soldier mill around the coral like structure of the young TARDIS.

The soldier turned as if he knew he was being watched, holding the Master's piercing gaze.

The Master smiled and sounded the alarm.

I know it's been a while, but I've had a hectic couple of months. Thank you for sticking with me and a big hug to you all. xxxx


	30. I walk Alone 6

**I walk alone - 30**

The pound of the alarm greeted Jack, Martha, the Doctor and Harry as they entered the inner sanctum of the Hub.

Andrews was stood over the fallen body of Ianto, his Glock drawn, the sound of the bullet lost in the repetitive noise.

The Master, standing next to Andrews, turned to greet them. He hastily raised his laser screwdriver to halt their progress, but Jack didn't stop. His momentum carried him forward, sinking to his knees by Ianto, his emotions replacing any caution. He needed to know, to see for himself if Ianto was truly alive. He assessed the damage quickly, it was a lucky shot, the bullet had clipped the upper part of Ianto's right arm, painful yes, but neither crippling nor fatal. Jack was quite the expert on getting shot.

He placed his hand over the wound to stop the sluggish seep of blood, but something was wrong. He could feel it spark through the touch of his fingertips, an unearthly warmth, whispering to him, emitting a disjointed flash of divine order. Here was something disciplined and absolute, stretching across time in a variable web of a thousand conclusions.

Jack inhaled; this was the force that had fashioned him, made him a constant in an ever changing universe, a fixed point in multiple strings of cause and effect.

This was the Vortex.

He looked down at Ianto, but the young man's gaze seemed so distant and aged that Jack felt a chill run through him. "Ianto?" He needed reassurance.

Ianto met Jack's concern, his eyes trying to convey much more in the crowd of his mind where the threads of time held him fast in the unfolding events of possibilities and outcomes.

'_This is who we are_,' the TARDIS whispered, as the future flickered in hundreds of images extending out into infinite choices beyond his control.

Ianto felt like he needed to contain this before his body shattered with the sheer force and magnitude of the Vortex.

He tried to steady his mind, trying to grasp the concepts the TARDIS was showing him.

'_These are the threads of our existence,' _she explained, '_the threads that bind us all as one.'_

'_As one,' _Ianto echoed as his mind rewound the many strings back to their catalyst, the one fixed point in time that would start its many branches.

It replayed before him, each recap varying slightly but the result remained the same.

Death.

Death was the catalyst. Death was the beginning, the means to an end.

'No,' he cried, 'there must be another way.'

'_We have chosen the best path,'_ she clarified, deflecting the rawness of his emotion, '_this is the inevitable, it is fixed, it cannot be changed.' _

Ianto pulled at the filaments that were entwined around this one moment, this anchor.

"No," he whispered again.

'_This future, this point, is cast in stone.' _Her voice was gentle, soothing.

'Yet it can be undone,' Ianto reasoned.

She knew what he purposed. _'Yes, as your mother did before you.' _ The despair echoed in her voice_. 'But it is not without consequence," _she warned, and Ianto felt Jack's touch against his skin.

Jack.

Jack, who stood out against the flow of time, forged, moulded, shaped by its diversity, eroded by its demands.

"Jack," Ianto whispered before the Vortex drew him back into its fold.

'_We are hurting'. _The words sparked like fireflies in Jack's mind.

'_Time is hurting'. _

'_There must be a reckoning.' _

"No," Jack cried out loud, looking to the Doctor.

'_We will not hurt that which is ours.'_

Who? Ianto, the Doctor, the Master, him?

Time?

The Doctor took a step forward, feeling the pull from both Ianto and the TARDIS.

His thoughts went to Rose, a human body trying to contain the insurmountable force of the TARDIS's heart, that absolute power, fuelled by her own emotions.

But Ianto was only part human.

'_We will not hurt that which is ours,' _Ianto's voice, twined with that of the TARDIS, whispered in his head.

'What about those who are not – _yours_?' the Doctor asked.

'_We will not hurt.'_

But somewhere in the duality of accents, the Doctor heard the break of Ianto's voice and felt its dilemma.

"Stay where you are, Doctor." The Master's voice seemed to resonate with arrogance through the Hub. "Bit of a chip off the old block." He gave Ianto a harsh kick.

Jack reacted quickly, jumping to his feet with an emphatic growl, but Andrews stepped between him and the Master, his gun trained on Ianto. The Master smiled at the display.

"Oh, I think we're going to have a lot of fun together, eh, Freak? How many times do you think he can regenerate, hm? Shall we put it to the test?" They locked eyes, Jack's hostile and full of intent, the Master's bustling with amusement.

"Andrews, take Braum and Fields to check the rest of the site, I want no more surprises. Oh, and see if you can find Neil I have a little job for him."

Andrews nodded but spared a quick glance at Harry before signalling to the others to follow. It was all the reassurance Harry needed.

"On your feet, Jones," the Master ordered, gesturing with his laser screwdriver.

Jack helped Ianto stand. "Looks like your little plan failed," the Master sneered, tapping the screwdriver forcefully on Ianto's injured arm. Ianto did not react; there was no pain to counter.

"But don't worry we'll speak about it later. I'm a little upset with you right now, Ianto Jones." The Master stepped closer, gripping the young man's face to ensure eye contact. "You lied to me. I don't know how, but I'm going to find out."

For a moment the Master saw his own twisted reflection in Ianto's soft blue focus. He blinked. "Even if I have to tear your mind apart piece by piece until you're left like dear Lisa in her cyber cage; brain dead and totally at my will."

Ianto remained silent as the Master turned to Harry. "Well, well, well, Harry Sullivan, so you're the mysterious Waverly, how apt." His smile was all teeth and no humour. "It only goes to show, you can't keep an old companion down, eh? Wanted one more adventure with him, did you? Shame it's going to be your last," he added with a flourish.

He took a step forward. "Any more of the Doctor's merry little band waiting to crawl out the woodwork?"

He held eye contact with Harry as if the answer would appear in the older man's gaze; it didn't. The Master laughed and ruffled Harry's hair affectionately before placing an arm around his shoulder. "Can I offer you some refreshment, hm? Tea maybe?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you," Harry replied brusquely.

"Oh I like that," the Master said, "here am I about to kill you and you still manage your Ps and Qs, how very British. You know, I might just have a job opportunity for you. I'm in need of a good manservant, can't offer much in the way of pay, but at least you'll be breathing."

He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I was going to offer it to Jones, here, but I think I have other plans for that young man." He pulled Harry to him in a makeshift hug. "So, what do you say, Harry, old chap, old beam, ready to join Team Empire?"

Harry went to refuse but the Master interrupted. "No, no don't thank me, I get all embarrassed. Miss Royds". He turned his attention to the woman systematically eating her way through a box of chocolate éclairs nestled between her and Witherspoon.

Emma looked up and sucked cream and chocolate from her finger with a gratifying 'pop'. "I want some t-shirts made up," the Master explained, "my face, 'Team Empire,' on the front and 'go, team, go,' on the back."

Miss Royds scratched something in pencil on a pad before hitting her keyboard decisively.

The Master turned to Martha and sighed. "Now, Martha, don't think I've forgotten about you." He waggled a finger in front of her nose. "You know you have a special place in my heart."

"Really? I'd never of guessed," Martha answered, crossing her arms.

The Master stooped a little closer to her ear. "I don't want to appear to play favourites." He touched her face. "Soon," he whispered softly, "the conversion unit will be up and running and you, my dear, after Lisa of course, will be the first of my new army." His lips brushed her cheek. "Go, team, go."

Martha turned her head away.

The Master smiled, checked his pocket watch and ran to the middle of the Hub. "Mr Witherspoon, on screen if you please. I never get tired of saying that." He winked at the Doctor.

Witherspoon looked up, his nose swollen and bruised from Lucy's earlier attack. He dipped his eyes down to the keyboard. "Sir?" he questioned, shakily. Miss Royds shot him an apprehensive glance as she moved the éclairs nearer her own keyboard.

"I would like our guests to see the news coverage of the populace chanting my name - Master, Master, Master." Again he looked at the Doctor with a smirk. "Make it so," he added with a gesture to the screen.

Witherspoon appeared petrified; he tried to swallow his obvious anxiety. His fingers hit the keys as if, like worry beads, the action would ward off any stress. "Um, I, um, there's a problem." His voice was an uneasy whisper.

"What!" The Master turned round to face him, the heels of his shoes jarring noisily with the movement.

Witherspoon dipped behind the screen, using it as a shield. "The, um, the upload, it, it was removed."

The Master's stare burned through the back of the screen. "What do you mean _removed_?"

"Because of the content," Witherspoon answered quickly, running his fingers nervously over his damp brow. "The original content, um, I'm afraid it's been, was…" he corrected "…um, um, tampered with." He looked fleetingly at the Master and then cowered back behind the sanctuary of the computer.

Harry smiled inwardly. _Good old Sarah Jane._

"Altered?" The Master frowned. "But that's impossible, I checked it myself and all the hits."

"Um." Again Doug hoped the click clack of the keyboard would earn him some respite.

"Witherspoon, so help me…"

"Um, it was a spoof," he said hurriedly, keeping his head low.

"What? You seem to be making a lot of noise but I can't understand what the hell you're saying." The Master loomed nearer.

Doug looked up, trying his hardest not to make eye contact. "An outside source hacked into the system, I didn't see it, it was seamlessly done, amazing actually." He smiled nervously.

"Witherspoon, answers now!" The Master slammed his fist down on the desk making its contents jump. Miss Royds instinctively put a podgy hand over the éclairs.

"Um, yes." Again the man swallowed his throat dry. "The content you uploaded went onto a spoof site. No one viewed the original it was, it was…" he gulped. "Um, modified."

The Master's eyes narrowed. "Modified?"

Witherspoon nodded. His nose throbbed with the action making him feel both dizzy and sick.

The Master grabbed the top of the computer screen, his knuckles white. "What did they see?" He looked into Witherspoon's bloodshot eyes.

"Sir?" Doug's voice was more than shaky. Miss Royds placed her éclairs into the top drawer for safety.

The Master leant over the top of the computer, evading the other man's personal space. "What. Did. They. See?" he spat.

Witherspoon whimpered as his finger hit the return key. He ducked behind his screen once more trying to appear inconspicuous. The BBC news channel came onto the main viewer.

The news reader, with matching fuchsia jacket and fish-like lips, sat behind a large picture of Lucy Cole.

"Police officers in Cardiff are searching the Bay area as they continue their investigation into the disappearance of Miss Lucy Cole. Miss Cole, whose father is Lord Cole of Tarminster, went missing on Friday during a routine government visit to offices in Cardiff.

"Police are extremely concern for her safety after the bodies of two of her colleagues were discovered in the Bay early this morning."

The image of Lucy disappeared and was replaced with a film of police divers and forensics officers milling around the harbour.

"Mr Preston Syde and Miss Stacie Macie had been travelling to Cardiff with Miss Cole, their bodies were found by police divers in the early hours of this morning. The police are treating their deaths as suspicious."

Pictures of the two replaced the footage; one a hazy image of a very inebriated Stacie taken at a Christmas party, the other, an unsmiling passport photo of Syde. The news reader dropped her gaze from the camera as the backdrop morphed to a wild eyed image of Harold Saxon; it too was an unflattering picture.

"Police would like to interview this man, Harold Saxon, after he uploaded recent footage of both Miss Cole and Miss Macie on a popular video sharing site.

"The recording shows a delusional Saxon ranting at the government in the belief he's some alien time master."

The picture cut to the Master's 'address to the nation.' He was sat behind a desk in the Hub looking official, his hands clasped in front of him, the ring projecting its multi faceted light into the eye of the camera like a cheap hypnotist's tool. His voice was calm and soothing, but as he spoke a series of words flash over his broadcast, drawing those watching away from his narrative to subliminally whisper to the hidden memories of the mind.

'Remember.'

'Liar.'

'Madman.'

'Murderer.'

'Remember.'

'Blood.'

'Steel.'

'Death.'

'Remember.'

'Genocide.'

'Psychotic.'

'Monster.'

'Remember.'

'Saxon.'

Then a very grainy image of an anxious Lucy appeared, her words lost in the jump of the film as it wavered like candlelight on the screen.

'Victim.'

For a moment Harry Sullivan's memory skipped with the image in jarring flashes of smoke and fire.

'Victim.'

The word swam in his vision.

'Victims.'

The Hub around him diminished from sight as the dark shadows of his nightmares surfaced to tinker in the daylight.

He saw the sky fracture and open and it rained steel and blood upon the Earth like Hell was above them and all of its demons let loose upon mankind. Childlike laughter echoed above the sound of screaming, carnage and death, while the sound of drums kept beat with the rhythm of his heart…

'Saxon.'

'Liar.'

'Master.'

'Monster.'

…and the laughter of a maniac.

'Remember'

'Hope'

'Remember'

'Doctor.'

'Doctor.'

'Doctor.'

"Doctor." The word inadvertently sprang from Harry's lips in a soft exhale of breath, exorcising the visions from his mind.

"Doctor," he repeated to ward off the lingering tremors.

Even the newsreader seemed lost for a moment, her wide eyes following some distant memory until the whispered name of, 'Doctor,' brought her back to the eye of the camera.

She swallowed, composing herself. "It is believed Saxon became obsessed with Miss Cole when she visited Providence Park Psychiatric Hospital in Cardiff last September; Saxon was an outpatient there.

"The footage also showed Saxon, dressed in a Halloween costume, violently attacking Miss Macie in what appeared to be a psychotic rage…"

"Turn it off," the Master yelled at Witherspoon; immediately the screen went blank.

There was silence except for the Master's ragged breathing; he turned his back on the room. "Miss Royds, the bidding?" he asked, his voice cold.

Emma hit the keyboard merrily; the smile on her face collapsed into its folds.

"Miss Royds?" the Master asked again, his hand toying with the laser device by his side - the only oblivious sign of his irritation.

"The site has been suspended and all bids withdrawn," she replied, a little too quickly. Her eyes narrowed and her finger moved to the screen, following the text. "'By order of the Shadow Proclamation.'" She withdrew her finger and bit her lip nervously not daring to look up. "There's also a galactic warrant out for your arrest."

The Master glanced at his finger to where the pinch of the ring was still visible on his skin; its power had been used against him.

'How? How?' he demanded of himself, clenching his fist tightly.

'_Ianto Jones,' _came the bitter reply.

But How? How could he? How could this boy have outwitted him? He was the Master.

He was the Master!

'_Master of what?'_ that small voice asked. _'Master of nothing but your own demise,' _it mocked.

No!

'_Mirror, mirror on the wall who is the cleverest of us all? Not the Master,' _it taunted, laughing at his own stupidity.

'_Quick, call the huntsman to take the boy into the woods and cut out his heart… Ah, but you've tried that once and he won't die…'_

The Master spun round and confronted Ianto. "This is your doing," he raged, raising the laser screwdriver.

Ianto exhaled. Jack moved across him but the young man did not register it. Instead, through the eyes of the Vortex, he saw the Hub shatter before him into thousands of shards of suspended probabilities.

This was it.

This was the defining moment, the anchor in the flow of time and grief overwhelmed him in oceans.

The Master smiled at him triumphantly, wallowing in his own self importance to provoke events. 'Little man,' Ianto thought as the whole of time was mapped out before him. 'Little men,' he reflected sadly.

Their eyes met and Ianto saw, in their murky orbs, the darkened flash of resolve as if it were a shadow on the face of the moon.

The Master's smile became a sneer as he turned and focused his aim on Martha. "Let's start at the end shall we?" His reasoning was gone, what was left was the chaotic mix of insanity, fuelled by bitterness and enmity.

Ianto watched those few seconds of consequence past protractedly before him. He saw the change in Martha's expression, the movement of the Doctor, too slow and too late, the fire of the laser blaze across the room, Martha topple to the floor, pushed, as Harry quickly stepped between her and the blast; the blast that hit him directly in the chest.

For Ianto, for that moment, time stilled around him in a three dimensional tableaux, a canvas of death, painting so time could recover, so time could go on.

_Good old Harry Sullivan, hero to the last. _The statement ebbed like an outgoing tide, the words washing through him with icy certainty.

He felt the TARDIS settle by him.

'_It always ends in death,_' he observed.

'_Without death there can be no beginning,_' she answered.

As she spoke the event fractured around them into different pathways of possibilities. The TARDIS gently kissed Ianto's cheek and disappeared to add her voice into the swirl of the Vortex.

"He's dead." Martha's words echoed on a thousand instances all leading away from this moment – the death of Harry Sullivan.

Martha looked to the Doctor but he wouldn't meet her eyes. Beside Ianto, Jack felt each weighed beat of every new second pound through him as time pivoted and began to move forward, the fine hairs on the back of his neck sensing the approaching storm.

The Master stood over the body. "Good old Harry Sullivan, hero to the last, looks like he earned you a reprieve, Martha." The pitch of his anger had been momentarily sated. "But not for long, eh?" He winked at her, she glared up at him, unaware of time fizzing around her; waiting.

The Master pocketed the laser screwdriver and turned to Ianto. "And now for you, young Mr Jones."

He held up the vortex manipulator fastened on his wrist like a magician about to perform a new trick. He twisted his arm tauntingly in front of Ianto. _'Look nothing up my sleeve.'_ Ianto heard a voice giggle in the back of his mind.

'_Only death,' _he whispered back.

'_Oh, don't be so morose, we're getting to the best bit.' _The voice reminded enthusiastically before it popped and vanished like a bubble in the sunlight.

"I'm going back, back to the battle of Canary Wharf," the Master informed the room as he pulled out Jack's Webley, checking the chamber. "I wonder who I'll find amongst the blood and debris, a Rose maybe amid the thorns." He turned the metal barrel, his eyes never leaving Ianto. "Your victory will be short lived when you cease to exist."

"No you can't." The Doctor spoke for the first time since Harry's death.

"Can't what, Doctor? Eh? Kill two birds with one bullet? It's a perfect solution."

"No. Think of the consequences. It would break the flow of time. Cracks would appear, people would vanish into the vacuum you create, widening the breaks until time itself implodes and there is nothing left."

The Master's smile was triumphant. "That's the general idea, you catch on quick."

"But there would be nothing left," the Doctor repeated again.

"Yes, but I would have won." The gleam in his eye was full of shadows.

"Won? This isn't a game."

"You're such a fool, Doctor; it's always been a game between you and me." The Master pressed a button on the wrist strap and the rift opened in a halo of dazzling light.

Ianto felt the spike of connection between himself and the Vortex reach for the pinnacle of the moment and shuffle its marked cards.

'_Showtime,'_ the voice crowed jubilantly in the swirl of Ianto's mind. _'Hm, but what to wear?'_

Jack stepped forward but Ianto grabbed his arm; there was nothing either of them could do to stop this. Time's guardians had already chosen a champion.

The young TARDIS shimmered its solid form, bending with the tentacles of light the rift emitted until they became one qualifying entity of beauty and power, but the cost for both was high as the juvenile TARDIS was consumed by time's force.

Ianto mourned her loss, even though he knew her renewal was imminent, she would be tainted and corrupt by the madness that belonged to someone else.

'_You can't save us.' _The memory of the young TARDIS's words filled his thoughts.

'_You could not save me.' _ Lucy's detached voice swam in recollection.

And yet together…

"I'm forever blowing bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air. They fly so high, nearly reach the sky, then like my dreams they fade and die. Fortune's always hiding, I've looked everywhere, I'm forever blowing bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air." Two voices twinned as one sang out from the glow as a lone, faceless, figure stepped from the rift's energy taking its radiance with it like a cloak.

The Hub stilled, locked in the expanding bubble from the rift, its players unable to move like shop front mannequins selling its wares.

The figure moved behind the Master and wrapped its arms around him in an embrace."Hello, Harry dear, long time, no see." One voice became prominent, the other a whispered echo.

The cocoon of light fell from its form like golden grains of sand revealing the woman underneath; the Master's body stiffened in recognition. "Lucy, but you're dead."

"No, sweetheart, only reborn. Hallelujah," she whispered close to his ear but she directed her smile at Ianto. It was honest and well meant but couldn'thide the madness straining at its edges.

"You know the song, Harry dear: _'Well baby, I've been here before, I've seen this room and I've walked this floor, you know, I used to live alone before I knew ya. And I've seen your flag on the marble arch and love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah.'" _

She giggled and kissed his neck, tenderly. "Oh, how I've missed this." Her fingers traced the line of buttons on his shirt. "Feeling that is, touching, you can't imagine what it's like being so detached from everything you love; and I love you, Harry, body and soul. Do you still love me?"

Her hand wrapped around the Webley he still held as an empty threat, the metal becoming hot and glowing in his grasp, burning his skin until he released it with a hiss. It spun across the floor, like a wayward firework stopping at Jack's feet. Lucy brought his hand to her lips and kissed away the hurt. The Master swallowed as her embrace became tighter, possessive. "I'm not so sure you do love me Harry," Lucy pouted, "you've been very mean to me."

She smiled and the whole room trembled. "Now what's that old adage, 'heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.'"

"Lucy, I never…"

"Shush, sweetheart, it's too late, you've been a very naught boy." She waggled her finger at him. "Playing with things that don't belong to you, that shouldn't be touched and now you have to be punished." Her eyes changed into the twist of the Vortex.

"Lucy, please…"

"I'm sorry, Harry, it's time's dictate and you've made it angry, very angry, you're not going to like it when it's angry."

She reached inside his breast pocket and located the laser screwdriver. "No naughty toys for naughty boys." She tossed the device across the room. "And this." She placed a finger on the Vortex manipulator; it fell from his wrist.

Lucy's mouth fell open, her jaw dislocating and from its unnaturally wide cavity the energy that lay within her flooded the Hub. She drew the Master closer, her eyes burning dangerously. "Do not fear, sweetheart, for I have made a place for us, a world of my own imagination to share with you."

She giggled, its twisted sound held no wispy melody.

"'Come with me and you'll be  
In a world of pure imagination  
Take a look and you'll see  
Into your imagination.'"

Their bodies lifted from the floor, the ghostly brilliance of the Vortex and rift combined making Lucy appear translucent.

"'We'll begin with a spin  
Trav'ling in the world of my creation,  
What we'll see will defy  
Explanation."'

"Lucy, don't do this," the Master began to plead.

She stroked his face with her fingertips as she dragged him further into her embrace until his skin began to blister with little shafts of light.

"'If you want to view paradise,  
Simply look around and view it.  
Anything you want to, do it  
Want to change the world, there's nothing to it."'

The Master cried out as his body began to slowly melt into Lucy. She smiled.

"'There is no life I know  
To compare with pure imagination  
Living there, you'll be free  
If you truly wish to be."'

"'Till death us do part, Harry and beyond." Lucy's voice was no more than a snatched whisper of sunlight on a cloudy day.

She sort out Ianto, the man who had saved her from death but not the madness that troubled her mind. "'Good-night, sweet prince; his hour is come when he to sulphurous and tormenting flames must render up himself. Let me be cruel, not unnatural; I will speak daggers to him, but use none. O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt, thaw, and resolve itself into a dew"'.

The Master's piercing scream visited every surface of the Hub as both their bodies burst into a turbulent cloud of glimmering specks, embellishing the air with both sunlight and shadow. Lightening ripped from its maelstrom, dancing in mental flashes of the Master's crimes against universe. _'We are hurting. Time is hurting,' _a chorus of voices recited in ghostly whispers. _'We must stop the hurt.' _

The cloud collapsed back into itself, in a swirling pattern of light and dark, to be contained within the coral-like exoskeleton of the young TARDIS.

'_We will not hurt that which is ours.' _One small sigh, one lone voice and then silence.

Nobody moved as they waited for time to exhale. It stirred, unfurling the pathway, stretching so that everything that happened fell into place, slotting together, second after second.

"What... what just happened?" Martha stood back from Harry's body, looking to the Doctor.

"Time and punishment," he replied, but there was no humour in the statement.

Martha looked around her; those under the Master's control had been rendered unconscious. "Then he's gone?" she asked cautiously, moving to check on Miss Royds who had face planted on her keyboard.

"For now," came the simple answer.

"Not dead then?" Jack this time, his eyes trained on the young TARDIS, the Webley raised.

"Trapped, imprisoned if you prefer." The Doctor spared him a glance.

"But not forever, not permanently." It was rhetorical. Jack pulled back on the hammer.

The Doctor sighed, rubbing his forehead. "You can't destroy it, Jack, it won't let you."

"And you could just be saying that." Jack tore his stare away from the young TARDIS to challenge the Doctor, the trust between them showing its cracks.

"I could." The Doctor looked toward Ianto for support but Ianto's eyes still held the weave of the Vortex.

"Ianto?" The Doctor gained both Martha and Jack's attention, but the young man ignored him, his gaze fixed on the body of Harry Sullivan.

"So much death, so many tears." He took a step forward.

"Ianto, don't."

Ianto turned to the sound of the Doctor's voice before looking down at his hands. "So much power, so much life."

"No, don't do it." The Doctor's plea sounded small in the pivot of the moment.

"Doc, I got this." Jack reached out and grabbed Ianto's arm, turning the young man to face him.

He held his gaze, seeking the man lost to the Vortex. "You won't be saving him, Ianto, believe me, you'll be condemning him."

"You were saved." Ianto's fingers brushed Jack's face without really seeing him.

"Was I?" Jack dropped the Webley to the floor and took Ianto's hands in his own, squeezing them lightly.

They were close now, Jack could feel Ianto's breath on his face, he swallowed. "Look inside me and tell me Sullivan would want this, this endless life." Jack leant forward so their foreheads touched.

Ianto inhaled sharply as their soul's met and he saw, he felt, everything that the Vortex had given Jack: every death, life, lie, love, tear, every goodbye and every year of loneliness. It was cold, detached and, oh, so broken. He was surviving, more than any in a world that constantly recycled itself under a different name.

"Jack." What could he say? This was who Jack saw in the mirror.

"This, this is what I am, who I am." Jack carefully pushed a strand of hair off Ianto's forehead.

"No, you're so much more."

Memories of smiles and laughter, however fleeting, however painful, touched both men. Jack's laugh held sorrow in its inflection. "Happiness, laughter, but there are too many silences in between."

Ianto looked back at Harry's body, the Vortex draining from his eyes. "Ianto, don't do it, please." Jack turned the young man to face him again.

"He's always been there for me, Jack, like a…" Ianto closed his eyes.

"I love him." It was heartbreakingly sincere.

"I know, I know," Jack said softly

"I can't let him go, I need him."

"You have to, Ianto, you must. It was his time." Jack inhaled deeply.

"Let him rest in peace, let him die once, with dignity, not cursed with eternal life. It will eat him up and he will slowly die on the inside." He kissed the top of Ianto's head feeling the power of the Vortex draining away from them both.

_Tick, tock._

Jack swallowed. Time was running out on him, he needed something from it, needed something from Ianto, needed to ask the question. "Ianto…?"

His eyes sort the mix of the other man's, appealing to the ancient knowledge within him, imploring, begging. The question died on his lips as Ianto shook his head, drawing a shaky breath. "I can't, Jack, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"Well, I had to ask." Jack hid his heartbreak behind the humour, the small smile pushing his lips too dull to be real. He dropped his gaze, screening his pain.

Ianto reached out, gently gripping the sides of Jack's head, clutching at this one chance to save the man behind the façade of Captain Jack Harkness, the man he loves. He kept his voice low and precise. "But I've seen your death, Jack, it's a long way off, but you won't die alone or unloved."

Death.

Jack's eyes were slow to leave lanto's face in case the words were taken back in jest. He closed them, listening to the heightened beat of his own heart, savouring the moment.

Death.

Ianto had seen his death; his forever death, that unattainable, unfamiliar concept. He exhaled a long drawn out note of relief. It was enough; there was an end.

He wanted to open his eyes, to kiss those lips with grateful thanks, to taste the words so fresh upon them, but he couldn't, he was ashamed. Ianto had given him everything and Jack, Jack had never given him anything solid in return, just whispered promises of a ghost of a man, a fabrication, an illusion.

He opened his eyes. "Thank you." The words were spoken just plain and true to the man, without any invention.

Ianto smiled back at him and something tore deep within Jack's heart; he found _himself_ smiling back.

A/N: This was one of the hardest chapters to write. Harry is one of my favourite characters and I thought long and hard before killing him off. I wanted give him a good exit, a hero's exit where at least he gets to save the girl.

Thank you. :o(


	31. I Walk This Empty Street 2

**I Walk This Empty Street – 31**

The air held a hint of autumn as the breeze weaved its way through the splendid mismatch of graveyard trees.

The steady flow of mourners offering their condolences had made their way back to the house on promises of tea and coffee or something stronger. Ianto and Sarah Jane had remained at the graveside; Martha stood nearby, keeping her distance, not wanting to intrude on their silent goodbyes.

Ianto stared at the freshly dug earth, lost in thoughts of recriminations, hoping that somehow his guilt could be buried along with the coffin. But it still clung to him, refusing to let go of his heart, threatening to destroy all the close knit walls he had built over the years.

Harry was gone, dead, and Ianto could never take it back, not now.

His gaze wandered to Sarah Jane who placed the rose she had been holding during the service onto the grave. She was burying her past in this final tribute, burying the 'what ifs' and 'what might have beens'.

She looked at him and smiled softly. "I'm not staying, I can't, I'm sorry." He nodded and her gaze drifted back to the rose.

"We were going on a date, when, you know, when it was all over. Thai, I think he liked Thai food." She inhaled deeply, not wanting the tears to overwhelm her.

She paused, swallowing hard, looking beyond the petals of the single red rose. "Don't fill your life with regrets, Ianto, don't leave things until it's too late - we let too many chances pass us by."

Her gaze rested on the simple wooden cross marking the plot until the ground settled and a more elaborate headstone could take its place. "I loved Harry, but I couldn't see it, couldn't see him, because I thought I loved…" Again she hesitated, the name and admission left to wander in the breeze. "And Harry was too much of a gentleman to ask, but he was always there for me, always."

Ianto looked at the cross, a sentinel for the dead, what words could he find to carve in polished granite to mark this man; surely there was no stone big enough, no words adequate.

"He was proud of you, Ianto. Proud of who you were and who you had become." Her smile lifted the moment, but only briefly.

"I should have…" he began, confessing his heart to the rows of dead.

Sarah Jane reached across and squeezed his arm. "No," she said strongly and kissed his cheek, embracing him as she whispered, "he loved you, Ianto, he wouldn't want you tormenting yourself like this. Let him go, we've enough ghosts haunting us." A tear slid down her cheek; Ianto pushed it away with his thumb but the mascara track remained.

She stepped back and wiped away a second. "I'll ring you." Ianto nodded, listening as Sarah Jane turned and retraced her steps back along the gravel path, pausing briefly to smile at Martha who had moved to join them.

"It was a beautiful service." Ianto didn't turn round; Martha had been there for him since Harry's death. Jack had not.

He had disappeared to face his own demons and reflect, maybe, on the future. Jack does this, Jack runs and Ianto understood; they all needed time as much as it needed them.

Martha had taken over the helm of Torchwood, and would remain so until the team got back on their feet. She'd been tireless in the task, committing all her energies to the day to day running of the Hub, but Ianto knew the truth, he knew her, she needed to keep herself busy so she didn't have to face this moment. Her own mortality hidden in floral tributes and funeral cortèges.

"Yes, yes it was," he answered, his eyes lost in bank of colourful flowers.

"The team send their love…"

Ianto cocked an eyebrow, Martha smiled. "Even Owen," she continued. "They wanted to be here for you but the rift's keeping them up 24/7."

"Never a dull moment."

"No." Martha hesitated, taking a tentative step forward, but not too close. "He saved my life."

It was the first time it had been broached between them and he wasn't sure how to answer her. Harry's death had been inevitable; hers, at that point in time, uncertain. Ianto found he was smiling. "He would have been glad," he said finally, "for a hero's death; it's what he would have wanted."

"I don't know how to make up for it, how to make it right. It should have been…"

"Then I would have lost a good friend."

Ianto turned to face her, he sighed. He didn't know what to tell her, he was trying to deal with this but Martha deserved something from him too, even if it was what she already knew. "Just carry on doing what you do, Martha Jones, save the world a day at a time and make Harry's death worth something."

She looked away, noticing a sparrow had settled on one of the gravestones, daring to venture into the open now the graveyard was mostly empty. "And you? Are you coming back?"

Ianto waved away a bee, drawn to the sweet smelling flowers. "Yes, it's where I belong."

Martha nodded, letting the moment settle on them as they both watched the sparrow, bolder now, hop down to retrieve something from the freshly cut grass.

"Did you find an answer?" she asked as the sparrow flew away, spooked at the sound of her voice.

Ianto shook his head. "I'll always be conflicted."

She threaded her arm through his. "Head and heart," she said, looking down at the mass of flowers.

"Head and heart," he repeated, softly kissing the top of her head.

"Apparently there's fruitcake and Scotch back at the house." Martha steered him away from the graveside.

"Harry's favourite." He smiled. "I could do with a drink."

"Me too," Martha conceded. "It's been a long summer."

"Yes, yes it has."

They walked along the gravel path, turning the stones, displacing some onto the neatly kept banks. At the half boundary wall the Doctor and Jack stood waiting, their gazes focused at different directions, their distance apart, telling. Ianto stopped and sighed.

"You have to face them sometime." Martha read his reaction.

"I know, but not just yet, there's someone I must see first."

Ianto had noticed a figure stood inconspicuously to the side of the church, almost blending with the rough grey stones. He let go of Martha. "I'll be back in a moment." He turned and headed back toward the church to where

Benton stood smoking just out of view of the others.

He looked up as Ianto approached. "Nasty habit," he said, looking at the old Victorian gravestones in this more sombre part of the churchyard.

"Death?" Ianto mused.

"Smoking," Benton replied, drawing on the nicotine but making no attempt to stub it out. "Do you mind?" he gestured to a weathered bench. Ianto nodded.

"'In memory of Leonard Dawson, 1932-1985.'" Benton read the dedication on the bench before sitting down, flicking ash onto the grass. Ianto joined him.

They both stared at the stretch of ancient headstones. It was darker here, more oppressive, the shadow of the church casting out the sunlight.

Benton went to the breast pocket of his dark jacket, heavy for the weather but he seemed not to notice its weight, and pulled out a postcard, laying it flat on his lap. He continued to ponder the gothic designs of the weathered headstones through a thin veil of twisting smoke. "UNIT seems to have lost Andrews," he said at last.

Ianto looked down at the remnants of confetti caught in the long grass at the foot of the bench. "Really?"

"Really. They'd like to tidy up all the loose ends now that Harry's tenure is over. They think he may have had help to disappear." Benton took a long drag on the cigarette.

"They've no use for a hired assassin then?"

"No." The word curled in smoke. He flicked more ash away. "New broom and all that. I give it a couple of months."

"They've found someone to replace Harry already?" Ianto looked up; it had been almost three weeks since Harry's death.

"There's always someone ready to step into the big shoes, the problem is they don't always fit." Benton stubbed the cigarette on the arm of the bench, obscuring the number '4' in the sentiment, 'Tracy 4 Andy,' that had been gouged into the wood.

"Hard shoes to break in," Ianto echoed.

"Difficult," came the reply.

"Military man?"

Benton made a face. "Civil servant."

Ianto looked surprised. Benton unbuttoned his jacket. "He won't last, hasn't got the stomach for it. TUBBIN," he said.

At Ianto's puzzled look Benton smiled, saying, "Thumb up bum, brain in neutral, I learnt that one from Harry." He reached into the coat for a battered hip flask.

Ianto gazed at the older man. "And you?"

Benton smiled, lightening the lines that marked his seventy plus years. "I'll keep my head down until I'm needed." There was a pause. "You did the right thing."

"So everyone keeps telling me." Ianto buried a miniature paper horseshoe in the grass with his toe.

Benton sighed and uncapped the flask. "This, this is your world, Ianto, not ours – it's too…"

"Complicated?"

"Dirty. Harry Sullivan was a gentleman and this world has no use for gentlemen anymore. What he did, what he_ had_ to do, cut him deep but he still made those difficult decisions. He did his duty."

"Hero to the last," Ianto said bitterly.

Benton looked at him. "Yes, and Amen to that. I wish there were more."

They turned back to the headstones and Benton lifted the flask. "To Harry Sullivan, seadog and sawbones." He smiled. "Friend."

He took a deep breath. "On the chest of a barmaid in Sale were tattooed the prices of ale and on her behind, for the sake of the blind, was the same information in Braille." He took a large swig and handed it to Ianto.

Ianto smiled. "Did Harry teach you that one?"

"Of course."

Ianto saluted Benton with the flask before drinking from it. The Scotch was big and explosive making Ianto gag slightly on its intensity.

Benton chuckled. "Highland whisky, Balblair – the good stuff, got a taste for it back in the seventies when I was posted up there. Too peaty for Harry, one of the few things we could never agree on, Scotch and women." He took the flask back and took another mouthful.

"You coming back to the house?" Ianto asked, although his voice seemed to have raised an octave.

Benton shook his head. "I'm not much for small talk, never was." He slid the postcard across to Ianto and stood.

"And I'm not one for goodbyes, Ianto, not at my age, it always seems so final, so I'll just say: you know where to reach me." He held out his hand.

Ianto stood and clasped it strongly. "Thank you, John, for all your help." There was something unsaid between them. Benton nodded and slipped the flask back into his pocket.

Ianto turned and walked back toward the gate, knowing Benton would exit another way. He looked down at the postcard; it was a picture of the automated lighthouse on Flat Holm and part of the surrounding nature reserve. He flipped it over; the script was carefully written, weighted and hard into the card.

_Thank you._

_A_

Ianto smiled to himself, an old soldier and an assassin, who said Torchwood employees have difficulty making new friends.


	32. On The Boulevard Of Broken Dreams 2

**On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams - 32**

The voices stopped when Ianto reached the wrought iron gates as Jack, Martha and the Doctor watched his approach along the gravel path. Ianto folded the postcard and tucked it into his pocket.

Jack slid the latch across and held the gate open for him but it was the Doctor who spoke first as he jumped down from the old stone wall, rubbing the grit from his hands. "Did you know Martha's never heard of 'Man From UNCLE'?"

Ianto looked at her. "Illya Kuryakin? Napoleon Solo?" Martha shook her head with an indulgent smile.

Jack grinned, letting the gate slam without much reverence. "Ah, Robert and David sure could party. There was this one time…"

"Jack," Ianto cut in, "I would be grateful if you wouldn't shatter another of my childhood illusions."

The captain gave a little smirk and held up his hands in surrender; Martha nudged his arm. "Come on, Jack, let's go check out the ducks."

Jack frowned. "Ducks?" Above them a microlight whined making Jack look up.

"Duck pond." Martha tapped him again, a little harder this time as she gestured with her head across the village green.

Jack still looked confused and Martha raised her eyebrows, trying to articulate her meaning by nodding between Ianto and the Doctor. "Oh, yeah, ducks," Jack replied. "Gotta check out that duck pond." He linked arms with Martha. "Once around the pond, Dr Jones?"

Martha looked at Ianto and rolled her eyes. "Maybe twice," she said with a wink.

The Doctor shoved his hands in his pockets as he watched them walk across the manicured cricket pitch like a couple of vaudevillians. "Never understood duck ponds."

Ianto shrugged. "I don't think there's much to understand, unless you're a duck, or a small child with a bag of stale bread," he added.

They walked a little way along the narrow road that led from the church into the heart of village. Red brick council houses and picturesque Cruck cottages lined the way, as well as several pubs and a shop-cum-Post Office.

Ianto looked up; the microlight was still there, circling above them, stirring the sky in a blaze of red and yellow. The Doctor stopped to admire the setting. "Nice place this, very jam and Jerusalem."

"Harry liked it here. It reminded him of where he grew up," Ianto replied, still watching the small aircraft weave across the sky.

"Ah," the Doctor said, nodding. He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry about Harry, he was, well, he was one of a kind."

Ianto glanced at him. "Yes, yes he was."

For a moment the unspoken filled the air between them: the Doctor silently acknowledging the hard choice Ianto had made and Ianto's own remorse at not saving Harry. The Doctor turned away, gazing at a war memorial proudly situated in the middle of the green. In the end there was nothing he could say to change what had happened. He sighed. "You're not coming with me, are you?"

Ianto shook his head. "Not this time."

The Doctor looked at him. "I'll keep asking."

"I know."

The Time Lord nodded, knowing there would be little point in trying to persuade him further. "Ianto," he began carefully, "the Master, I should be the one to…"

"He's out of harm's way," Ianto assured him.

"In _Torchwood's_ care?" the Doctor said cynically.

"No, in _mine_."

"Would you tell me where?" Their eyes held one another.

"Yes, if you were to ask," Ianto replied honestly.

"And Jack?"

"Yes."

The Doctor remained thoughtful for a while, resting his foot on an old stone boundary marker. Finally he nodded. "If there's any change, if the young TARDIS becomes unstable…"

"You'll know."

The Doctor looked back along the path. "I helped Martha demolish the conversion unit the Master rebuilt, just in case your government had any ideas about researching its usefulness."

"Good." Ianto swallowed, bracing himself for what was coming.

"We also," the Doctor hesitated, "we also dismantled _Lisa_ and put her to rest." He looked at his son, his gaze showing empathy. "We buried her deep, Ianto, destroyed all the technology on her, this time she's truly gone."

Ianto breathed a sigh of relief, closing his eyes. He felt the Doctor place a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Thank you," he whispered, before the Doctor removed his touch.

Ianto shifted his gaze back to the duck pond. "Are you going to say goodbye?"

"I?" The Time Lord followed his son's gaze. "Ah," he said again, shaking his head. "Never been very good at them." He looked at Ianto. "Would you…?"

Ianto nodded.

"And Sarah Jane?"

Ianto smiled sadly. "She took his death badly."

"They were very close," the Doctor answered, kicking his foot against the stone.

"They could have been closer." It came out reproachful which was not what Ianto had intended. "I didn't mean…"

"I know."

Ianto hesitated a moment. "Doctor, you and Jack?"

"Me and Jack?" Confusion flickered across the Doctor's face. "Ah, me and Jack." He sighed. "We'll get over it; we just need a little…"

"Time?"

The Doctor smiled. "I think we're made of similar matter."

"Stubbornness."

The Doctor gave a small laugh, putting his hands in his pockets. "And what about you and Jack?" he asked.

Ianto shrugged. "You're good for one another," the Doctor acknowledged.

"I know, but I sometimes wonder if Jack..?"

"He knows," the Doctor answered.

Ianto looked down at the ground. "I guess we need to talk."

The Doctor nodded. "I guess you do."

The microlight flew over them again. The Doctor followed its path for a moment but his mind was elsewhere. "Ianto?"

"Hmm?" Ianto, too, turned his gaze skyward, shielding his eyes against the sunlight.

"Will you tell Jack about the Vortex? That there's still a residue left, inside you?"

Ianto continued to watch the mircolight as if he hadn't heard. "Yes," he said finally as the small aircraft flew away from village.

"It's quite unprecedented." The Doctor watched his son carefully.

"So am I," Ianto replied with a smirk.

The Doctor smiled. "Yes, yes you are. Well then," he said, rubbing his hands together.

"Well then," Ianto repeated awkwardly.

The Doctor gathered him into a tight and clumsy hug. "I'll, um, I'll see you then," he said.

Ianto suddenly went rigid in his embrace, making the Doctor push away from him. "He will knock four times," Ianto whispered, "and you will open the door."

"Ianto?" The Doctor grabbed both his son's arms, looking into his face; Ianto's eyes burned with light.

"He will knock four times," he repeated.

"Who? Who will knock four times?" the Doctor asked.

"Death."

The Doctor released him and stepped back, holding onto Ianto's gaze until the last vestiges of the Vortex retreated in a swirl of light. "Ianto?"

The young man blinked at his name, as if being called out from a day dream. "I..?" He looked around him. "I saw…" He shook his head. "I felt…"

Nothing.

It was gone, a snatch of something that left him cold.

The Doctor placed a hand on his son's shoulder again. "It's okay," he said gently.

Ianto looked at him. "Something's coming."

The Doctor smiled lightly. "It always is."

Another fixed moment in time. And if he was honest, the Doctor could feel it getting closer.

He clapped his hands together. "Well better, you know." He gestured over the road to the pub car park where he'd left the TARDIS, already the lunchtime rush had monopolized the outdoor seating; the benches with shade being the first to go.

Ianto nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting upwards. "I know."

The Doctor turned and started to jog away. "Ah!" he exclaimed, stopping abruptly. "I nearly forgot."

He spun round and headed back, rummaging around in his pockets. "Aha! It's always the last place you look." He dug out a pen from the depths of his jacket and presented it to Ianto.

"A pen," Ianto remarked, holding the weighty silver ballpoint aloft, trying to look interested.

"Not just any pen," the Doctor commented, "I had to modify it slightly so I could merge all the components. It's a little more slim line than usual."

He smiled excitedly as he snatched it back and removed the pen's end piece, flipping it round and reconnecting it, exposing a golden shank. He handed it back to Ianto who examined it a little closer. "It's an UNCLE communicator," he exclaimed, pulling the antenna out from the other side.

"Not quite, here." The Doctor pressed down on the chrome grip; it made the familiar warble of the communicator but the end glowed with soft amber light.

"A sonic pen?" Ianto looked puzzled.

"Laser," the Doctor replied smugly.

Ianto frowned. "The Master's?"

"No, not any more, it's yours. I reworked the screwdriver into a prop I had lying around the TARDIS; pretty neat, eh?" The Doctor crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels with delight.

Ianto pressed the chrome grip again, pointing it away from him. Several car alarms went off in the car park as their front tyres blew. The Doctor took it from him. "Ah, let me adjust that for you." He fiddled with the top of the pen. Across the road, confused diners were inspecting their vehicles.

"There." The Doctor handed it back. "You'll get use to it, with a little practice."

Ianto smiled, still studying the pen. "Thank you."

"Well, missed a few birthdays, thought I'd get you something to make up for it."

"And you recycled." Ianto dismantled the pen and placed it in his pocket.

"You know me, anything to save a planet."

Ianto smiled, waving off a few wasps that were loitering around them. "Well," the Doctor said, taking a few backward steps. "Must be off, I'll see you soon." He turned and bounded over a post and chain fence, heading for the pub.

Ianto watched him for a short time before moving back down the road.

"Ianto?" the Doctor called from across the car park; Ianto spun round. "I_ will_ see you soon and if you need us, at any time…"

Ianto smiled and carried on.


	33. Where The City Sleeps 2

**Where The City Sleeps - 33 **

Jack sat back on the metal bench as Ianto shifted beside him looking down at the pocket watch in his hands. Martha had gone to get the car, an excuse to give them both time to talk.

"They found it on Down," Jack explained, "his body wasn't discovered straight away, it was hidden in a disused corridor. Apparently he bled out." He paused for effect, watching Ianto's reaction. "Very slowly."

"Must have pissed off the wrong person," Ianto replied, tucking it into his pocket.

"Must have." Jack turned back to the pond and skimmed a stone across the water's surface, unsettling a mallard who scrabbled away from the ripples. "Martha had it cleaned for you."

"I must thank her."

Jack nodded and let his gaze wander to the octagonal turrets of an orangery partial hidden behind a high wall of trees. "Where did you go, Jack?" Ianto asked.

Jack tore himself away from the eighteenth-century folly to look at the few stones he still held in his hand. He could lie, make up some excuse. "I went to visit family," he said, honestly.

If Ianto was surprised he didn't show it. "I've a daughter and a grandson," Jack continued, rubbing his thumb over the rough surface of a stone.

"Wife?"

Jack looked up. "No, Alice's mother is dead."

_Alice._ Ianto stared at several faded bouquets of flowers that had been placed by the water's edge. "I guess they all do in the end," he reflected out loud.

Jack swallowed. "Yeah."

"You, you and your daughter, you have a good …"

"No." Jack shook his head, cutting Ianto off. "Not really, it's hard for her."

Ianto nodded sinking back into the slats of the bench. Jack threw the stone into the centre of the pond. "Did the Doctor say anything before he left?" That was it, subject changed, no more questions, no more prying.

Ianto watched the ripples grow and fade, shaking his head. "Not really." He looked at Jack. "Were you expecting an apology?"

Jack bit back a reply, rolling another stone between his thumb and forefinger.

"Did you try to talk to him?" Ianto asked, already knowing the answer.

"No, I was too pissed at him for the whole 'Master/brother' thing." Jack tossed the stone into the reeds. The tall stalks hissed and shook.

"And if your roles were reversed, Jack, what would you have done?"

_Gray. _

Jack looked away sharply, he had never spoken of his brother, but the way Ianto looked at him was as if he could see right through to the shadows of his past.

_Gray. _The colour? A name? Ianto felt Jack's guard shift and something dark surface to touch the sunlight. He let the moment pass. "You'll make up."

Jack snorted kicking his feet into the grass, making Ianto smile. Jack looked at him. "Ianto, I needed to know where you've …" was hidden the right word? "…where you've_ placed _the Master?"

Ianto blinked against the glare from the water. He sighed. "The automated lighthouse on Flatholm." Beside him Jack relaxed a little.

"What if he escapes Lucy's prison?" Jack held onto a small stone as a Moorhen cracked the glassy surface in the shape of a 'v', swimming for the reeds.

"I've a man there," Ianto answered.

"UNIT?" The word showed a hint of concern.

"No." Ianto smiled. "An animal lover."

"Well, that's okay then, for a moment I was worried." Jack followed the uneven skip of a deep blue dragonfly as it landed on a raft of lilies.

They sat in silence for a bit, each measuring their thoughts. In the end it was Ianto who broke the unspoken tension between them. "Where do we go from here, Jack?" It was plainly said, a grown up question for a twenty-first century relationship.

Jack sighed, feeling the broken eggshells under foot. "We could go for a drink. That pub back there looks okay," he deflected admirably.

Ianto shook his head and started to stand. "I can't, I have to get back to the house."

"Ianto …"

"Jack, I …"

Jack eased him back onto the bench. "Give me a minute here."

He stood, watching the pond, taking ownership of the scene without really realising. Several ducks glided seamlessly across the water while their legs kicked hell for leather underneath; Jack gave a snort but didn't turn round.

"I don't know; I don't know where we go. It's been along time since I've had this sort of relationship."

"Relationship?" Ianto watched him carefully, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"Do you feel it's anything less?" This time Jack looked over his shoulder.

"I don't know, Jack, I'm not sure what to expect, what to aim for in this. I just know that when I'm around you, I'm, I'm …" He shook his head as if to find the right word. "…I feel complete."

"Complete?" Jack raised an eyebrow.

Ianto gave a frustrated sigh, loosening his tie. "Happy, hell, ecstatic, passionate, warm, fantastic, alive."

"You make me sound like _Viagra_."

"I don't know how else to love, Jack."

_Love._ There it was again, haunting him. Jack let the last stones fall from his grasp.

Ianto glanced up, holding eye contact. "Is it a cliché?"

Jack looked back to the orangery. "One day I'm going to lose you."

"Yes."

'_And my heart will break.' _ Jack admitted to himself.

He didn't want this conversation; he didn't want to let love in. He shook his head. "Hell, you were only meant to be a pretty distraction when I couldn't have …" He pushed back, pushed away, the slip hadn't been intentionally or had it.

"Gwen?" Ianto looked up as Jack put his hands in his pockets not daring to turn round. "Do you still love her?" There was no emotion, Ianto kept his voice even.

Jack ignored the question. "I should never have let it get this far, I should walk away."

"But you haven't."

Jack glanced down. "No."

"Why?" Again, a simple question.

Jack sighed but didn't answer.

"Do you love her, Jack?" Ianto asked again.

"Yes, but not in that way, not any more, it's gone beyond that."

A duck flew from the pond, walking on water until it was airborne. Ianto swallowed, his eyes drawn once more to the dying flowers still wrapped in their cellophane; suddenly everything around them seemed to fall silent. "You think Gwen can save you?"

This time Jack faced him. "I think you both can."

Ianto stood, joining Jack at the water's edge. "I need you, Ianto," Jack confessed, his fingers brushing against Ianto's hand proclaiming much more.

Ianto curled his fingers round Jack's tentative touch. "Where do we go from here?" he asked again, his stare fixed on the grandeur of the orangery.

Jack closed his eyes and smiled, squeezing Ianto's fingers. "Forward," he answered, "one step at a time."

The End.

A/N: Thank you all for reading. Have a great festive season.


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